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ABIGAIL 



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“Those are oranges, Susan.” 






































































AWicfcoil 

By 

PORTIA HOWE SPERRY 

and " 

LOIS DONALDSON 



Pictured by 

ZABETH SELOVER 


JUNIOR PRESS BOOKS 

albertXwh itmam 

(y 4co 

CHICAGO 

1938 







Copyright, 1938, by Albert Whitman 


FZ'l 

' S'I50 


& Company 




Printed in the U.S.A. 

©Cl A 1 2061 1 


SEP 21 1933 







CONTENTS 


Page 

Abigail Arrives. 19 

Planning the Journey.. 28 

Grandmother’s Story. 39 

Off for Indiana. 48 

The First Stop. 59 

The Bear.,.... 68 

Mother’s Favorite Hymn. 77 

An Ohio River Indian Story. 85 

Crossing the Ohio River. 95 

The Storm. 106 

Crossing the White River. 116 

The Arrival .127 

Nashville.138 

On a Hilltop.147 

A Good Neighbor. 153 

Where Was Abigail. 162 

Borrowing Fire...171 

A Housewarming.183 



































FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 


FULL COLOR PLATES 


Page 

“Those are oranges, Susan” . Frontispiece 

“Oh, Grandmother, here's a doll!” .Facing title page 

The ferry was a flat bottom boat . 97 


The raft was being pulled straight across the river ....123 
She left Abigail seated against an old sycamore tree..157 


BLACK AND WHITE PLATES 

“Here are your own nightgown and nightcap” . 45 

She watched Mother reach for the gun . 71 

The little party floated quietly past the scene . 91 

Then came the rain! .Ill 

“Well, here you are at last!" .129 

A man on horsebac\ rode up .141 

“Where did you find her, Uncle Ja\e?” .167 

She worked harder than ever at the big loom .177 

Susan laid Abigail down .189 


















To 

A. J. ROGERS, 

whose encouragement made possible 
our work in Brown County. 


To 

HVD, GFA, and M McE, 
who were with me on the motor trip 
which made this book possible. 



► . 


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Co N 
























































I 

ABIGAIL ARRIVES 

S USAN,” called Grandmother, “come and see 
what I have made for you to take to Indiana.” 

Grandmother stood in the doorway of the 
log cabin, and Susan was down near the 
brook. She was brushing aside the dead leaves and 
patches of snow, hunting for the first spring beauties. 
Though it was the middle of March, southern Ken- 
tucky lay warm in the spring sunshine, and Susan 
was without a hat. 


19 




20 


Abigail 


Susan looked longingly at the brook as it wound 
through a clump of willows. She was sure there 
would be spring beauties snuggled close to the old 
trees. But Grandmother stood waiting in the door' 
way, the sun glistening on her silvery hair. 

Susan turned from the brook and ran up the hill 
toward the cabin. “Something to take with me to 
Indiana,” she thought. What could it be? A quilt? 
A dress? Perhaps it was the old brass candlestick 
that Grandmother had promised Susan would be 
hers someday. Still it might be a gay rag rug for 
Susan to put beside her bed to step onto on cold 
mornings. Susan knew Grandmother was always 
making rag carpets, when she wasn’t knitting. 

“Now shut your eyes and hold out your hands,” 
laughed Grandmother, as she caught Susan in her 
arms, and placed her hands over her eyes. 

Slowly she led Susan across the threshold of the 
cabin. “If we turn to the right, it will be a quilt, for 
Grandmother has put it on the bed,” thought Susan. 
“If we go straight across the room, we will be walk' 
ing toward the fireplace, and then I think it will be 
the candlestick that Grandmother keeps on the shelf 
above it. If we turn to the left, we will be near the 



Abigail Arrives 


21 


old chest, and ’most anything could come out of 
that!” 

Grandmother turned to the left, and stopped in 
front of the oak chest. “Keep your eyes closed tight' 
ly, Susan,” said Grandmother, “while I open the 
chest.” 

“I will,” promised Susan, her eyes shut so tightly 
that her whole face was wrinkled. “But please hurry! 
I’m so curious I don’t believe I can wait another 
minute.” 

Grandmother lifted out a long box smoothly cow 
ered with gay red calico. It was round, like a log, 
and in the middle was a leather strap sewed at both 
ends in Grandmother’s small even stitches to make a 
handle. She closed the chest and placed the long 
round box in Susan’s outstretched arms. 

“Open your eyes now!” she said, laughing. 

Susan opened her eyes. She looked at the bright 
red box wonderingly. Then she looked into her 
grandmother’s blue eyes. 

“What is it, Grandmother? What is it?” she ex' 
claimed. “Please tell me. I can’t wait to guess!” 

“Sit down here, child,” was the answer. Grand' 
mother pushed Susan’s own little stool with its 



22 


Abigail 


woven cane seat toward her. “You can open the box 
by pulling out one end.” 

Susan opened the box. “Oh, Grandmother, here’s 
a doll!” said she. “She’s dressed just like me. Her 
dress is made of the same calico mine is. Oh, you 
dear doll!” cried Susan, hugging the doll close in her 
arms. “She’s so soft and cuddly. Her shoes and her 
sunbonnet are just like mine. Oh, Grandmother, 
thank you a hundred times.” 

She rushed to her grandmother and put one arm 
around her neck, holding the doll closely with the 
other. “I shall name her Abigail after you,” she said 
earnestly. 

“Thank you, dear. I’d like that,” answered Grand' 
mother. “The box she came in looks just like a 
traveling case I had when I was a little girl. It was 
called a portmanteau. So here is Abigail with her 
portmanteau, ready to leave for Indiana whenever 
you are. I meant to give her to you for Christmas,” 
continued Grandmother, “but when I knew you all 
were going to Indiana this spring, I said to myself, 
‘Little Susan will grow tired on such a long journey, 
and I’ll hurry and make that doll for her to play with 
on the way.’ I’ve been planning for a long time to 



Abigail Arrives 


11 

make her for you, so I set right to work. She’s 
stuffed with wool from your grandfather’s sheep, 
Susan, so when she gets dirty you can wash her. I 
made her jointed so she can sit down, too.” 

Grandmother set Abigail down carefully on the 
floor beside Susan and looked affectionately at the 
two small figures, each so like the other. 

“What a pretty face! Did you paint it, Grand¬ 
mother?” asked Susan when she had taken the doll 
in her arms again, and was looking happily into its 
blue eyes. 

“No, your Aunt Rachel did that,” said Grand¬ 
mother. “All last fall she gathered roots and berries 
and tried to find which dyes looked best. Then she 
began painting faces! She painted faces on her milk 
glass plate, then washed them off so she could try 
again. When she made one to suit her, she brought 
it over to show to me. I declare, I was as pleased 
when I saw it as you are now,” laughed Grand¬ 
mother. 

“Uncle Mat made the box to carry her in. He 
never could think of the word portmanteau. He 
called it her satchel when he brought it over for 
me to cover and sew on the handle.” 



£4 


Abigail 


“It’s all so very lovely,” said Susan softly. 

“You take good care of her and she will last all of 
your life, and then your little girl can have her to 
play with, for she’s well sewed,” exclaimed Grand' 
mother proudly. “Now I must go and help your 
mother sort out the bedding. There’s lots of work 
getting ready to move,” she sighed as she hurried 
out of the door, leaving Susan alone with her doll. 

The warm Kentucky sunshine poured in through 
the open door on Susan as she sat on her little stool 
with Abigail in her arms. Soon she took off Abigail’s 
sunbonnet, and one sunbeam fell on the doll’s face, 
lighting up her blue eyes. 

“Oh, Abigail, I’ve always wanted a real doll! I 
love you so much, and I’ll take good care of you 
always,” whispered Susan. “I’m glad you can go on 
a journey with me to Brown County, Indiana, to our 
new home. We’ll have lots of fun, won’t we?” 

Father, Mother, big brother David, and brother 
James did all they could for Susan Calvin; Timothy, 
the baby was fun, too, but Susan longed for a little 
girl to play with. Here was Abigail, with her port' 
manteau, ready to go to Indiana before Susan herself 
was ready to leave! 



Abigail Arrives 


25 


All the previous winter Father and Mother had 
talked of leaving their old home in Kentucky, and 
moving north to the new state of Indiana. Land was 
cheap there, and very rich, so Mr. Calvin had been 
told by the hunters and trappers who drifted through 
the new territory. David and James would soon be 
wanting to have farms of their own. Father’s broth¬ 
er, Uncle Sam, had taken his family north to Indiana 
many years earlier. 

Uncle Sam had moved his family to that part of 
Indiana known as the New Purchase soon after the 
Treaty of St. Mary’s had been signed with the 
Indians. According to this treaty, the Indians, for a 
sum of money, gave up all claim to the territory. 
The United States government opened it to the set¬ 
tlers, and Uncle Sam had been one of the first to 
secure rich farm lands there for his new home. 

Though letters came seldom, Father knew Uncle 
Sam was well pleased with his new home. Susan 
thought of all this. Then she went to the shelf above 
the fireplace and took down a letter which was kept 
under the brass candlestick. 

“I think, Abigail, I shall read you this letter,” she 
said to her doll. “Father has read it to Mother so 



26 


i Abigail 


often through the long winter evenings that I almost 
know it by heart. Then you’ll know where we’re 
going, and why.” 


August 25, 1835 

Dear Brother Tom: 

Things are going well with us here in Brown 
County—good crops, and stock in fine shape. Why 
don’t you come up next spring and join us? There 
are fine opportunities here. You can buy all the land 
you want—good bottom land it is, very rich soil— 
at two dollars an acre. I’ve a parcel of land in mind 
for you not far from us, up Bean Blossom way. 

Last year we boiled down a good bit of salt from 
Salt Creek and sold it for $8.00 a bushel over in 
Bloomington. Jacob Nealy has just opened a tannery 
on Bean Blossom Creek and is doing right well with 
it. There’s a fellow here by the name of Richards 
who has us all worked up about panning gold. I 
saw a phial filled with nuggets of gold and silver he 
told me he had panned in Lick Creek. I haven’t 
been doing any panning myself, but I'm aiming to 
one of these days. Elijah Scarborough is building a 
flat boat and hopes to get to New Orleans with it 
in high water—from Salt Creek to the Driftwood 
River, to the Wabash into the Ohio, and then 
straight down the Mississippi. 

Tell Carrie the hills are real pretty. There’s talk 
of starting a school in Jacksonburg next fall, and 



Abigail Arrives 


11 


there’s a Baptist Church here now. Good healthy 
climate it is—almost no ‘agur’ this year. 

We’ll make room for you in our cabin while 
you’re building yours. Better decide to come, Tom, 
you won't regret it. Tell Susan her Cousin Saman- 
thy wants to see her. 

Your brother, 

Sam 

Susan’s voice stopped. She put the letter back in its 
place under the brass candlestick, and she and Abigail 
sat together, very quietly. 

Then she continued to the doll, “About Christmas 
time we decided to go, and now Grandmother and 
Grandfather have come to help us get started. He 
has loaned us his big canvas to cover the wagon, and 
he said he would put it on, too. Father and the boys 
have gathered together the farm things ready to pack 
into the wagon. Mother and Grandmother have been 
packing all week. 

“I’ve told you all about our plans now, except 
we’re supposed to finish packing in the morning. 
Let’s go outside now, so you’ll see something of Ken¬ 
tucky before you go traveling.” 






II 

PLANNING THE JOURNEY 

“Mother, see the new doll Grandmother made for 
me! Isn’t she the loveliest doll you ever saw?” cried 
Susan a few minutes later as she ran to where Mother 
was hanging up Tim’s freshly washed clothes. 

“Let me see her, Susan. Grandmother told me 
about her, and I am anxious to see what she’s like,” 
said Mother, drying her hands and taking the doll. 
“Isn’t her hair pretty! I do believe you can braid it, 
just as you do your own. And what a good size she 
28 





Planning the Journey 


29 


is! Have you noticed that her dress buttons and un¬ 
buttons? I never knew anyone who could make as 
beautiful buttonholes as Grandmother, either. She 
has real little leather shoes that tie. Do you remem¬ 
ber what a dreadful time you had learning to untie 
your shoes without making hard knots?” 

Grandmother came toward them, and Mother 
turned to her as she said, “Rachel has certainly made 
a good face. Do you know she really looks a mite 
like Susan, doesn’t she? She looks as though she 
could almost talk. You’ve dressed her just like Susan 
too, with pantalets, a sunbonnet, and a slate on her 
arm. What a lot of work you put on her. Mother! 
It will make the journey a much happier one for 
Susan when she has this doll to play with,” said 
Mother with a smile. She handed Abigail to Susan, 
and continued hanging up the rest of the clothes. 

“Don’t call her ’the doll’, Mother,” said Susan. 
“She’s Abigail. I’ve named her after Grandmother.” 

“All right, Susan, I think Abigail is a beautiful 
name. I wanted to name you Abigail, too, but your 
father wanted to call you Susan after his mother.” 

“Where are your father and Tom, Carrie?” asked 
Grandmother. Mother’s name was Caroline, but 



22 _ Abigail 

Grandmother had always called her Carrie since Su- 
san could remember. 

“They’ve taken the boys and gone into the woods 
to cut saplings for the wagon top,’’ answered Mother, 
hanging the last stocking on the line. 

“Well, while we three women are here alone, isn’t 
it a good time for us to go back to the cabin to 
gather together what you will want to take with 
you?” asked Grandmother. 

Feeling quite grown-up to be included as the third 
woman, Susan said, “We can’t travel without eating. 
We will need the kettles, and pan, and the dishes, 
too.” Grandmother and Mother exchanged glances 
of approval at Susan’s practical suggestion. 

“Tom and I have made a list of nearly everything 
we can take,” said Mother, “and we sold a good many 
things along with the farm. Isn’t it fine, Mother, we 
will have enough money to buy quite a piece of land 
in Indiana, and still have enough left to get a good 
start there.” 

“Yes, I’m mighty glad for you, Carrie. Has the 
man who bought your farm paid the money yet?” 
asked Grandmother anxiously. 

“He gave Tom a hundred dollars last week, and 



Planning the Journey 


3i 

has promised he will pay seventy-five dollars when 
he sells the stock in the fall. Then he will pay the 
other seventy-five dollars next year.” 

“That’s fine! Yes, that’s all right. Let me see, you 
are taking all the kettles and pans and dishes Susan 
spoke of. I’ll put them all in this ’tater basket so 
you will have them in one place on the trip. We can 
put the food in one end of the basket, and the kettle, 
frying pan, and dishes in the other end.” 

The ’tater basket was a big willow basket, and 
Susan could never remember the time when it hadn’t 
stood in the lean-to. She was glad it could go with 
them to Indiana. 

Grandmother hummed a little song as she bustled 
about, gathering up the different things. She was 
happy to know that Carrie was going to a larger farm 
and richer land. Next year she and Grandfather 
would be there, too, for they had already promised 
that they would come to them in another year. 

“I’ll put only the things we will need on the jour¬ 
ney in that basket,” said Mother, “and we can put 
it under the wagon seat where we can get at it easily. 
Susan, put in the two brass kettles, the frying pan, 
the tin cups, the mush bowls—we’ll eat out of them, 



Abigail 


21 

I guess—and the knives, forks, and wooden spoons. 
We will pack the big iron kettle, the pewter plates, 
the candle moulds, the chopping'bowl, and all our 
best things in a box.” 

“May I take my pewter mug, the one you used 
when you were a little girl, Mother?” interrupted 
Susan. 

“Yes, of course! The boys will be driving the cows 
north, too, and you can drink your milk from it just 
as you always do. But we aren’t going to be able to 
take all of our furniture. Tom says there won’t be 
room in the wagon. We will have to take the bureau, 
and I must take the chest Father made for me before 
I was married, and—would you take the cradle. 
Mother?” 

“Yes, I would. You rocked all your babies in that 
cradle, and you just ought to keep it for your grand' 
children; squeeze it in some place.” 

“Mother,” spoke up Susan, “you must take your 
rocking chair. It wouldn’t seem like home unless you 
sat mending and rocking in front of the fire. I want 
to rock Abigail in it sometimes, too,” she urged. 

“Susan, when we come up next year I’ll get Grand' 
father to make you a little hickory rocking chair for 



Planning the Journey^ 


33 

Abigail. Carrie, be sure to take your cherry candle' 
stand; your Father made that down in Virginia, and 
it is the most beautiful thing you have.” 

“Yes, and the hickory chairs, and Susan’s stool. 
Oh! There’s the baby crying. Will you and Susan 
look over the garden seeds? Be sure to get all of 
them,” she called over her shoulder, as she hurried 
away to care for Timothy. 

“I haven’t my spectacles here, Susan; you read me 
the names of the seeds your mother has on this list 
and I will put them in the seed basket.” 

Susan read slowly, for Mother’s writing was hard 
to read: “Beans, cabbage, sweet com, beets, onions, 
carrots, turnips, tobacco—” 

“Wait a minute,” interrupted Grandmother, “I 
can’t find the tobacco seed. There must be more seeds 
somewhere! Look on the top cupboard shelf, Susan, 
I believe I saw some there the other day.” 

Susan brought a chair, climbed up, and by stand' 
ing on her tiptoes was able to reach the top shelf. 
“Yes, here are more seeds in this jar; will you take 
them so I won’t spill them?” 

“Yes, this is the tobacco seed,” nodded Grand' 
mother. “Now go on reading the list.” 



34 


Abigail 


“•—Sorghum, popcorn, sunflower, hollyhock, 
bleeding heart, petunia, cockscomb, mignonette. But 
aren’t we going to take any wheat or barley, or 
’taters, or cattle com?” asked Susan. 

“I’m sure your Father and the boys will take care 
of all those. I remember seeing a sack of com and 
clover seed in the bam this morning, and a basket of 
sweet ’taters, too.” 

“I hope Mother takes the clock. I like to sit by the 
fire at night and make up stories about the picture on 
the face of the clock of the little girl and boy going 
up the road to a white church.” 

“You must remember, Susan, that you can’t get 
everything you want into one covered wagon! It 
won’t hold much. Your father and mother will only 
be able to take the most necessary things. But I do 
think your mother should take her clock. You can’t 
buy a Seth Thomas clock every day, and that one 
keeps good time.” 

All through that spring afternoon Susan and 
Grandmother worked together, even while Mother 
prepared supper. In fact Grandfather, Father, David, 
and James found them still working when Mother 
called them to come in for the meal. 



Planning the Journey 


35 


When supper was over and the dishes washed, 
Susan drew her little three-legged stool close to 
Grandmother's knee. Grandmother was sitting before 
the open fireplace, finishing the knitting of a pair of 
socks for Father. Susan never tired of watching the 
needles flashing back and forth in the firelight. They 
seemed to fly, so fast did Grandmother knit. Susan, 
herself, could knit socks—she had knitted a pair for 
David last winter—but she knit very, very slowly and 
watched every stitch carefully, not like Grandmother 
who never looked at her knitting, even when she 
turned the heels and toes. 

Without looking up from the harness he was 
mending. Grandfather asked, “Tom, how are you 
planning your trip?” 

“Well, as near as I can reckon,” Father replied, “it 
will take five days of good hard driving to get as far 
north as the Ohio River, and about a week longer to 
drive from there to Brown County. Sam writes that 
the last forty miles are bad roads, and we’ll have to 
drive mighty slow. It’s hilly when you get near Jack- 
sonburg. James will ride Dan, and David will drive 
the cows. Enoch Wetzel just finished two fine yokes 
for the oxen.” 



Abigail 


36 

“I’ve never seen finer oxen than yours,’’ Grand' 
father remarked. 

“That’s about right! There are none better in all 
of Kentucky. They’ll get us there safe and sound.” 

“David, are you going to leave Steve with me?” 
questioned Grandfather as he winked at Father. The 
family all knew that David wouldn’t go a foot with' 
out his faithful hunting dog, Steve. 

“Not by a jug full, I’m not,” laughed Dave good' 
naturedly. “He’ll make the trip all right. Won’t 
you, old dog?” asked David, patting the dog’s head. 
Steve seemed to understand, and wagged his tail 
agreeably. 

“How about chickens? Are you going to take 
any?” asked James. 

“Oh, yes, you must take enough to start a new 
flock. Have you cooked any to eat on the way. Car' 
rie?” asked Grandmother. 

“Yes, I’ve roasted four; and Rachel brought over 
a black walnut cake for us to eat on our first Sunday. 
With what game the men will kill, salt pork, and the 
com cakes I’ll stir up, we’ll get along beautifully,” 
Mother replied. 

“We’ll swing the chicken coop under the wagon. 



Planning the Journey^ _ 37 

It will travel all right, won’t it, Grandfather?” ques' 
tioned Father. 

“Sure enough! Sure enough!” was the answer. “I 
brought a coop full from Virginia with us that way, 
when we came up.” 

“I think we have everything ready to load,” Fa' 
ther said slowly as if thinking aloud: “Scythe, grind' 
stone, shovel, spade, pickax, crowbar, hoe, rake, 
crane, axes, broadax, plough. Did I leave anything 
out?” he asked. 

“Don’t forget your carpenter tools, you’ll need 
them,” reminded Grandfather. 

“That’s right! Of course! It’s funny how you for' 
get things, isn’t it?” 

“Did you look at the sky tonight, Father?” asked 
Mother anxiously. “We could never pack the wagon 
in the rain. Oh, I do hope we have a good day to 
start. Susan Calvin!” exclaimed Mother, “it’s long 
past your bedtime, and tomorrow will be such a busy 
day. Hurry to bed.” 

“Carrie, this is the last night I’ll have the child 
with me. Let me tell her just one little story,” urged 
Grandmother. “Come, Susan, climb up in my lap 
and I’ll tell you a story about a lazy boy who grew 



Abigail 


to be one of Virginia’s finest men, and one of Amen 
ica’s great leaders.” 

“Goody! Goody! Grandmother, may Abigail 
come, too?” 

“Of course she may, if you’ll promise to hurry to 
bed quickly after I finish.” 

The firelight played on the intent faces of Susan 
and Abigail as they both sat in Grandmother’s lap. 




Ill 

GRANDMOTHER’S STORY 


“I'm going to tell you tonight about a man whom 
all Virginians are proud to call their own—Patrick 
Henry. He was one of my dear father’s closest 
friends, and he often came to our home to spend the 
night. I’ve heard my father tell of what a lazy boy 
Patrick was. He wouldn’t work at anything! He 
wouldn’t study, and he didn’t seem to learn much 
of anything at school. He loved to play on his flute 
and his fiddle, and to gather a group of people around 


39 



40 


Abigail 


Hanover Court House and tell them funny stories. 

“His father thought that if he had his own business 
he might then start to work, so he started him and 
his older brother into business. But that had no effect 
on Patrick, and soon the business failed. Then Patrick 
went to farming and failed. He went back to store' 
keeping and failed. People felt sorry for Patrick’s 
father, but Patrick himself didn’t seem to worry. He 
had a good time playing for dances and telling his 
amusing stories. 

“For some reason, my father never knew why, 
Patrick Henry decided to study law. Perhaps he 
could work with his mind better than with his hands. 
He began to read law books; he read diligently for 
six weeks, and to everyone’s surprise, he passed the 
examination and was admitted to the bar. 

“Clients began to come to him. He was pleasant 
and jolly, and people liked him. Most important of 
all, Patrick liked law work, and kept at it. His friends 
were still more surprised when he offered to take a 
case for some of the people of Virginia against the 
parsons. 

“You see we often did not have money to pay our 
parsons or ministers, so we paid them in tobacco. 



Grandmother’s Story 


4i 


You know, Susan, tobacco is a chief crop of Vip 
ginia. Sometimes tobacco would be worth a great 
deal of money and then the parsons would feel well 
paid. Other times tobacco wouldn’t be worth much, 
so the parsons wouldn’t get much pay. 

’’Finally they asked to be paid only in money, and 
a law was passed which made it necessary for the 
people to pay the parsons in money. Then a queer 
thing happened—tobacco went away up in value— 
and the parsons were cross because they were paid 
in money; if payment had been made with tobacco 
they would have had three times as much money. So 
one of the parsons brought suit to get more money! 
King George heard of this, inquired about the law, 
and said it was not right. The citizens who felt the 
law was right then asked Patrick Henry to speak for 
them. 

’’My father was one of the men who asked Patrick 
Henry to defend them. He often told us how fright' 
ened he felt when Patrick stood up to talk. He said 
he never felt so sorry for any man! Patrick couldn’t 
seem to talk; he stumbled and halted in a dreadful 
fashion. 

’’Then suddenly he changed. He stood up very 



42 


Abigail 


straight; his manner became dignified; his voice grew 
strong; his eyes flashed. Father said his words rushed 
forth like a mighty torrent. Such eloquence had 
never before been heard in the Virginia colony. His 
courage astounded his hearers, for he told the colon¬ 
ists that King George had no right to say that laws 
which the Virginia legislature had passed were not 
right. Thus, he questioned the right of the King— 
something which had never been done before. 

“And what do you think, Susan! The jury de¬ 
cided that the colonists were right. Patrick Henry 
had won his case, which was called the ‘Parson’s 
Cause.’ 

“From then on success came rapidly to Patrick. He 
had found what he liked to do. In two years he was 
a member of the legislature. My father said that 
Patrick Henry’s words were the first words of the 
American Revolution. No man ever felt the same 
after he had heard them. We didn’t have war for 
ten years, but this was the first time the colonies had 
differed from the mother country. 

“With all Patrick’s careless habits, he was a man 
of high honor and integrity. He began to improve 
his manners and his way of talking. He was soon 



Grandmothers Story 


43 


changed into a new man—one of culture, learning, 
and extraordinary powers of oratory. He was often 
called ‘the silver-tongued orator.’ 

“He was sent to Philadelphia as a member of the 
First Continental Congress. Father also heard him 
speak before the House of Burgesses. He said he had 
never heard such a burst of eloquence. Patrick Henry 
told of the tyranny of the King and declared there 
was nothing to do but fight! Father said people will 
always remember that speech—it will go down in 
American history—never to be forgotten. Some day, 
Susan, you will learn all of that speech by heart. He 
closed by saying, ‘I know not what course others may 
take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death.’ 

“How different from the lazy, idle boy was this 
man who could arouse his listeners with his fine 
thoughts and his wonderful oratory. In time he was 
elected governor of Virginia. I want you always to 
remember Patrick Henry, Susan. He was one of the 
finest of Virginia’s sons, and one of the great men 
of America. 

“Now run along to bed!’’ 

Susan, with Abigail in her arms, slipped down from 
Grandmother’s lap. “That was a lovely story,” she 



44 


Abigail 


whispered. “I’ll always remember it, and I’ll tell it to 
Abigail again and again, so she won’t forget it, 
either!” 

She kissed Grandmother and Grandfather, and 
called good night to the others. Mother handed her 
a lighted candle, and away she went with Abigail to 
the back room. She pulled out her trundle bed from 
under Mother’s big bed. When she lifted up the 
pillow to get her nightgown and nightcap, she found 
lying underneath, a second nightgown and nightcap 
just like her own, but very small. Pinned to them was 
a slip of paper, and written on it in Grandmother’s 
small, fine writing were the words: For Abigail. 

“Oh, Abigail, here are your own nightgown and 
nightcap,” explained Susan to Abigail. “As soon as 
we put them on, you can sleep here with me in my 
bed. Isn’t that fun? You’re very warm and soft— 
not like the wooden doll Uncle Mat carved for me!” 

In a few moments Susan blew out the candle. 
There was a deep stillness in the room for several 
moments as she knelt by the side of her trundle bed. 

Then she climbed in, and pulled the patchwork 
quilt up closely about them both, saying softly to 
the doll, “I’ve just said my prayers, Abigail. Mather 




“Here are your own nightgown and nightcap.” 


45 





























































Grandmother’s Story 


47 


taught them to me when I was a very small girl, 
almost as soon as I could talk. I don’t believe the 
prayers I say would be the ones for me to teach you, 
though.” Susan thought a moment. “I know! I’ll 
teach you my favorite poem. Grandmother taught 
it to me, and she said she thought it was as lovely as 
a prayer of thanksgiving.” 

WE THANK THEE 

For flowers that bloom about our feet; 

For tender grass so fresh, so sweet; 

For song of bird, and hum of bee; 

For all things fair we hear or see; 

Father in heaven, we thank Thee! 

For blue of stream and blue of sky; 

For pleasant shades of branches high; 

For fragrant air and cooling breeze; 

For beauty of the blooming trees; 

Father in heaven, we thank Thee! 

—Anonymous 

When Susan went to sleep, Abigail was close in 
her arms, and Abigail’s portmanteau, tightly shut, 
was on the floor close beside the trundle bed. 




IV 

OFF FOR INDIANA 


Mother’s hope was fulfilled. The next morning 
was bright and clear, a perfect day to start on the 
journey. 

“Up, everybody!” called Father. “Get up, lazy¬ 
bones. Today we leave for Brown County. Every¬ 
body up!” 

Susan hopped out of bed and looked out of the 
window as she was dressing, so as to watch the men 
bending and fitting the long bows over the top of the 
48 





Off for Indiana 


49 


wagon. Great high hoops they seemed to be which 
made a framework over which the large white can' 
vas would soon be stretched. Grandfather’s careful 
work in cutting and shaping the bows, and his pains' 
taking efforts of the past few days resulted in each 
hoop bending and fitting into place without difficulty. 

‘There, now, that’s good and firm, and will hold,” 
she heard Grandfather say proudly, as he slipped the 
last bow in place. Next, the canvas was thrown over 
the bows, stretched tightly, and tied down securely. 

“When your Grandmother and I used that canvas 
coming up from Virginia years ago, we never sup' 
posed our little Caroline would be using it to go up 
to Indiana,” said Grandfather to Susan and Abigail 
who had run out and stood beside him. “It’s as fine 
and heavy a piece as I ever saw; no water can get 
through that.” 

Grandfather stood back and proudly surveyed his 
work. Instead of the old wagon that Susan had seen 
so often, there stood a real covered wagon, just the 
kind she had seen some of their old friends start 
away in. 

“Let me pull up the cord in front,” pleaded Susan, 
running up to the wagon. Tall, slender David swung 



Abigail 


5 ° 

her up in his strong arms, and showed her how to 
draw the heavy cord so as to gather the canvas across 
the front end of the wagon. When the canvas was 
in place, he tied the cord for her in a hard knot. 

“You see, Susan, we make the first bow stick out 
over the seat to keep out the sun and rain,” David 
told her. Then Susan realized that it was really a 
roof over the wagon seat. 

“It looks mighty fine now, doesn’t it?” asked James 
who had been working inside the wagon. Almost as 
tall as David, perhaps even more tanned, he man' 
aged to crowd a good time for Susan into all he did. 
“Climb over the seat, Susan, and see the inside of 
your house where you will live for two weeks.” 

“It makes a fine little cabin, doesn’t it?” said Susan, 
jumping up and down with delight, when James had 
set her safely down. 

“Get down now, Susan,” said Father, “We’ve got 
to load. Come on, boys. Dave, you take one end of 
this chest and I’ll take the other. After we get it in 
the wagon, you shove it back in place, James.” 

“Father, we’ll have to take out the drawers. 
Mother has packed them so full we can never lift the 
chest with them in,” answered David. 



Off for Indiana 


51 

With the three men pushing and lifting, up into 
the wagon went the bureau. David and James quickly 
put the drawers back in place. Next came the chairs, 
and next, Tim’s cradle. As she watched, Susan real' 
ized that Father was finding room for everything— 
all garden tools, and even the basket of seeds. The 
feather beds were piled in last to make a comfortable 
seat for Susan and Abigail. 

“Come, everybody,” called Mother, “and we’ll 
have our last breakfast at the old house. Then we’ll 
hitch the oxen and start.” 

The cabin seemed queer with no furniture in it, 
and no place to sit, so they decided to eat in front 
of the cabin in the early spring sunshine. 

Grandfather looked around at the family with their 
steaming bowls of food in their hands. Mother with 
baby Tim in her arms, sat on the cabin step. Father, 
tall and slender, with a heavy beard that was fast 
turning gray, stood near her. Grandmother was help' 
ing happy, ten-year old Susan to a second bowl of 
mush. David and James, tall and tanned, sat cross- 
legged on the grass, with Steve not far away. Abigail 
sat leaning against a tree with her sunbonnet in her 
lap. Grandfather looked at the group, slowly cleared 



52 


Abigail 


his throat, and said solemnly, “Folks, you are starting 
on a long journey. It is good to ask the Lord’s Hess' 
ing on you.” 

Lowering his voice he continued: “Lord, these, my 
folks, are leaving us to take a hard journey. They 
need strength. Give it to them. They need health. 
Give it to them. Keep them good men and women. 
Keep them honest, and make them good neighbors. 
Lord, keep them with you, and they will help to 
make the new land a good land. Amen.” 

For several moments not a word was spoken. 
Father and Mother, Grandfather and Grandmother 
looked very serious as they gazed off across the hills 
of Kentucky. The older boys squared their shoulders, 
and Susan, herself, felt the importance of leaving an 
old home and going to a new one as she had not felt 
it before. 

Soon the simple breakfast was eaten, the dishes 
washed and packed away under the seat, and they 
were ready to leave. “If you are ready, Carrie,” 
called Grandfather, “you can all drive by way of our 
place, and we’ll take Susan with us in the buggy.” 

“You won’t have a buggy to ride in up in Brown 
County, Susan,” said Grandmother, as Grandfather 



Off for Indiana 


£2 

lifted her up to the seat between them, and handed 
her Abigail with her portmanteau. 

The winding road led down one hill and up an' 
other. Never had the trees looked prettier than they 
did this early morning in the spring sunshine. 

“I’m very glad Abigail will have such a pretty pic¬ 
ture of Kentucky to remember,” said Susan seriously 
as she took deep breaths of the soft, spring air. 

Soon they reached Grandfather’s and Grand' 
mother’s home, for it was only a mile away. Aunt 
Rachel and Uncle Mat sat on the porch waiting for 
them, as they had driven over to say good-by. 

“Oh, Aunt Rachel, thank you for making Abigail 
such a sweet face,” cried Susan, rushing up to her 
favorite aunt the moment Uncle Mat had lifted her 
down from the buggy. 

“I tried to make her look like you,” laughed Aunt 
Rachel as she patted Susan’s rosy cheek. Then they 
both turned to wave to Father and Mother, who 
were sitting on the high seat of the covered wagon 
just turning into the yard. 

All too soon, greetings changed to good'bys, as 
Father finally called, “Come, come, we must get 
started!” 



54 


Abigail 


“Good-by, Grandmother, you’ll surely join us next 
spring, won’t you?” asked Mother as she hugged 
Grandmother close. “We’ll be looking for you too, 
Rachel and Mat,” she added, kissing them, and climb 
ing up on the seat. 

“Yes, we’ll be coming up sure,” answered Grand¬ 
mother as she kissed baby Tim good-by, and lifted 
him up to his mother. “Come, Susan, you’re next!” 

“Oh, Grandmother and Grandfather, I can’t leave 
you! I can’t!” said Susan, bursting into tears and 
flinging her arms around Grandmother’s neck. 
“Please let me stay here with you, please. I’ll be ever 
so good. I don’t want to go to that new place, truly 
I don’t.” 

‘There now, Susan child, this is no way for a 
pioneer girl to act. I’m ashamed of you, I am,” said 
Grandmother. “It isn’t as though you were going 
way off by yourself—you’re going with the family, 
aren’t you? Don’t let your mother see you cry! And 
what will Abigail think!” 

Susan was so busy wiping her eyes and blowing her 
nose that she didn’t notice the tears in Grandmother’s 
eyes, nor did she see Grandfather blowing his nose 
the other side of the wagon, or Mother in the front 



Off for Indiana 


55 

seat silently crying. Going away wasn’t fun after all! 
How could she have ever thought it would be? But 
when Grandfather lifted her up onto the feather bed 
in the back of the wagon, she managed a little smile 
through her tears. 

“My brave girl,” said he, giving her a hug as he 
settled her comfortably beside Abigail on the blanket 
Mother had laid over the feather bed. 

“Now you, James, keep an eye on your little sis' 
ter,” cautioned Grandfather as James came striding 
up, a long switch in his hand. 

“Sure, I’ll watch her all right,” he said gaily. 

Uncle Mat and Aunt Rachel kissed Susan, and 
they shook hands with Abigail, wishing her a pleas' 
ant journey. Soon all were in their places. Dave, 
with Steve close beside him, was riding Dan, the 
horse, ready to help James with the cows whenever 
he was needed. Mother was sitting on the front seat 
holding Tim. Father stood by the oxen with his long 
whip in his hand. 

“Ged'dap,” shouted Father in a sharp, ringing 
voice as he cracked his whip over the oxen. The cow 
ered wagon began to move, and they were off on 
their long journey. 



Abigail 


56 

“Good-by, good-by,” each was calling to the other 
above the creaking of the wagon wheels. Susan 
waved her handkerchief as long as she could see 
Grandmother standing before the cabin door, waving 
her apron. 

“Oh, Abigail, I am so glad you are here with me,” 
whispered Susan as she settled herself on the feather 
bed, ready for a good long cry. 

Perhaps she imagined it; perhaps it was Grand¬ 
mother’s loving encouragement ringing in her ears; 
but she was sure she heard Abigail say, “Susie, I’m 
disappointed in you. I thought you were a brave 
girl, and I’ve been proud to belong to you. But I’m 
beginning to believe you’re just a baby. You’ll make 
me cry in a minute, and I haven’t anything to cry 
about! I’m with you, and you are the only person 
I love. Stop crying and behave yourself. This is a 
great adventure for me, Susan, for I’ve never gone 
traveling and you’ll have to explain many things to 
me.” 

“I suppose you are right,” Susan heard herself say 
as she settled herself deeper in the feather bed and 
straightened Abigail’s bonnet. “But I’m very sorry to 
leave Grandfather and Grandmother.” 



Off for Indiana 


57 


Father drove the yoke of oxen drawing the cow 
ered wagon down the hill and followed the winding 
road to the little village Susan knew so well. It was 
fun to wave good'by to their different friends who 
gathered outside the cabin doors as they passed. 

“Good luck to ye! Hope you like the new couiv 
try,” called Hiram Green. 

“Good luck!” called Andy Taggart. 

“Send us back word if the new land is better’n 
oum,” shouted Enoch Wetzel. 

“Mayhap we’ll be moving up next spring,” called 
Joshua Prentiss. 

Each family had some greeting for them as they 
passed. Susan called and waved in return to every' 
body as they went along. When they passed the 
Kennedy cabin, Susan’s best friend, Nancy Kennedy, 
ran out and tossed a package in the wagon as she said 
good'by. 

“Oh! Thank you, thank you!” called Susan. 

When she picked up the package to open it she 
saw printed on the outside of it the words: Do not 
open this until the day after you reach your new home. 

“My!” thought Susan. “I can have such fun guess' 
ing what is in it. It seems to be round and fairly 



Abigail 


si 

large. It’s not very soft and not very hard. Maybe 
it’s a ball, or perhaps a pin cushion.” Susan felt of 
it again carefully. Then she exclaimed, “I think it’s 
a basket, for Nancy makes the loveliest willow bas¬ 
kets! I believe this one has a handle. Wasn’t that 
sweet of her. Oh, Abigail, you will like my friends,” 
she said, turning to the doll. ”My friends are very 
nice. I ’most forgot! I won’t have any friends up in 
Indiana! What will I do?” said Susan, partly to her¬ 
self and partly to Abigail. 

Without waiting for an answer, she continued, 
“But there are little girls everywhere, aren’t there, 
Abigail? I guess most of them are nice, too, if you’re 
nice to them. I’ll have good friends in Indiana if I 
had good friends in Kentucky, won’t I?” 

The wagon lurched as the road turned sharply, 
and Abigail in her sunbonnet seemed to nod her head 
emphatically in complete agreement. 



iOME 




V 

THE FIRST STOP 


The morning passed uneventfully. Occasionally 
Susan called to James, who was driving the cows back 
of the wagon. James was never too busy to call some 
funny thing to Susan to make her laugh, so she was 
really surprised when the wagon stopped, and 
Mother and Father came over to her. 

“Well, how’s the morning gone, Susan?” asked 
Mother, lifting the baby up on the feather bed and 
lifting Susan down. 


59 





6o 


Abigail 


“Oh, Abigail and I have had a nice time. You see 
there are many things she doesn’t know, and I have 
to explain them to her.” 

“Can you explain everything?” asked Father with 
a twinkle in his eye. 

“Well, almost! But not quite everything, Father,” 
answered Susan. 

“James, how’s walking?” asked Father, as James 
came up, driving the cows. 

“Not so bad, but they’re awful slow,” was the an¬ 
swer. “Do I ride Dan this afternoon, and let Dave 
drive the cows?” 

Father nodded his head. At that moment Dave, 
who had ridden on ahead, trotted up on Dan to re¬ 
join the family. 

“Hey, Dave, you’ve got to drive these beasts this 
afternoon. I’ve walked enough for a while,” called 
James. 

“All right!” agreed Dave pleasantly, “but how 
about some food? I’m starved!” 

“You boys gather some wood and build a fire,” 
said Father. 

“Susan, bring the basket with the tin cups in it 
from under the seat,” called Mother. 



The First Stop 


61 


As Susan climbed into the wagon she called to 
Abigail, “I’ll take you out of this stuffy wagon and 
show you a beautiful spot, but I have to get the meal 
started first.” Then she ran off with the basket in 
which the tin cups jingled gaily. 

“Look out, boys, not too big a fire!” cautioned 
Father, as he looked back from unyoking the oxen. 

“Mother, this yoke is fine. We've been travel' 
ing for at least nine miles, and there isn’t a chafing 
mark on the animals.” 

“I think an ox yoke is the most clumsy looking 
thing I’ve ever seen,” remarked Mother. “At this 
rate we ought to be there in a week, don’t you think, 
Tom?” 

“Oh, we won’t have good roads like this all the 
way. Dave, drive the cattle down to the creek for 
a good drink.” 

With the places set and the food unpacked, Susan 
ran back to the wagon, picked up Abigail, and 
brought her over to the fire where they could both 
watch Mother preparing the meal. Potatoes with 
their jackets on were boiling in the big black kettle 
over the fire, and a pot of coffee was steaming at one 
side. 



62 


Abigail 


“Dave, give the oxen and the horses their grain, 
and then we’ll wash up for dinner,” said Father, as 
Mother came back from the wagon with Tim in her 
arms. Laying him on a blanket under a tree, she took 
Susan’s hand and they walked down to the spring. 

“Isn’t it fun traveling in a covered wagon and eat' 
ing outdoors, Mother? I just love it, especially now 
that I have Abigail to share things with me.” And 
Susan talked on, telling her Mother of her plans for 
Abigail. “She needs a cloak the first thing, or a plaid 
shawl. I’m surprised Grandmother let her start on 
such a long journey without one.” 

Susan noticed that Mother smiled queerly when 
she spoke of a coat, and the next day Susan under' 
stood what that queer smile meant. 

“Here is Grandmother’s lunch basket. Let’s see 
what’s in it,” said Father, bringing from under the 
seat of the wagon a large green willow basket. “I 
smell fried chicken,” he said, as he untied the cloth 
that covered the basket top. 

Father picked up a large piece of paper from the 
top of the basket and read aloud in an amused voice, 
“Eat only what you find on the top layer today.” 

“Well, what if that isn’t enough?” asked David. 



The First Stop 


63 


“Oh, let me see what Grandmother made for us!” 
exclaimed Mother eagerly. Mother had never out' 
grown her love of surprises, and Grandmother had 
kept the contents of the basket a complete surprise. 
“Oh, Susan, did you ever see such beautiful fried 
chicken! Grandmother must have gotten up before 
daylight to get it fried,” said Mother, as she joyfully 
held up a tin plate heaped high with golden brown 
pieces. “And here’s a jar of her pickled onions— 
Father’s favorite! Here’s a dried apple pie. What’s 
this?” Then she picked up a package. Across the 
top of it was written in Grandmother’s fine writing: 
For Carrie from Grandmother, for her new home. 

Opening the package she found one of Grand' 
mother’s rare old treasures—a lovely milk glass plate. 

“How good of Grandmother! She knows how 
much I have always admired that plate,” said Mother. 
Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of her moth' 
er’s generosity. 

“Come to the feast, boys,” briskly called Father. 
How they all did enjoy their food, and how they did 
laugh at baby Tim putting his toes in his mouth, in' 
stead of the chicken bone Mother gave him. 

When the meal was finished the dishes were 



64 


Abigail 


washed and repacked, and again Susan and Abigail 
found themselves comfortably settled on the feather 
bed in the covered wagon. 

The oxen moved slowly down the winding Ken' 
tucky road. The ground was dry and firm and the 
wagon wheels rolled easily in the well packed ruts. 
The covered wagon seemed to sway to the slow plod' 
ding gait of the oxen, and in a few moments Susan 
fell asleep. 

Late in the afternoon Susan was awakened by 
Mother’s voice calling, ’’Wake up! Wake up! We’re 
stopping for supper and to make camp. What a 
sleepyhead you are. Riding in a wagon makes you 
sleep a long time, doesn’t it?” 

“Where am I?” asked Susan, sitting up and rub' 
bing her eyes. 

“You are in a covered wagon,” laughed Mother, 
“somewhere in northern Kentucky, on your way to 
the hills of Brown County in Indiana. Come and 
watch baby Tim while I walk around to limber up. 
I’m very stiff from sitting so long.” 

Susan climbed down out of the wagon as Mother 
lay the baby on the blanket on the ground and began 
walking briskly. 



The First Stop 


65 


“Where’s Dave?’’ called Father. Everybody looked 
back down the road, but no Dave and no cows were 
in sight. 

“I hope nothing has happened to him,” said 
Mother anxiously. 

“It’s a slow job driving those cows along,” said 
James, riding up. “They’re probably slower this after' 
noon because they are all tuckered out. If he doesn’t 
come along soon, I’ll ride back.” 

“I’ll go back now and let him ride Dan in,” said 
Father, jumping on Dan’s back and galloping away. 

They all lay down on the blanket under the trees 
to rest and to watch baby Tim, who was cooing and 
gurgling softly. 

“Tim seems to like traveling in a covered wagon, 
doesn’t he, Mother?” asked Susan. “Isn’t it lucky he 
is such a good baby? It would be too bad if he were 
like the Taggert baby who cried all the time.” 

“That would certainly make it much harder,” 
agreed Mother. 

In a very short time David came trotting up on 
Dan. 

“What happened, Dave?” shouted James. 

Mother inquired anxiously, “Are you all right?” 



66 


Abigail 


“Oh, sure! I’m all right, but those tamal cows want 
to stop and eat all the time. It’s a job keeping them 
on the move,” exploded David. 

“Gentle, gentle,” said Mother quietly. 

“You wouldn’t be gentle if you had to drive them. 
Mother. I can hear myself saying much worse things 
about them than that by tomorrow evening.” 

At that moment Father came up with the cattle. 
“That’s a tiresome job, all right. I think I’ll have to 
drive the cows each afternoon and have the boys 
take their turns mornings. Drive the animals down 
to the spring, boys, and bring back a bucket of water. 
This is rather wild country and there should be good 
game about. James, I suppose you are too tired to go 
hunting, aren’t you?” queried Father, with a jovial 
smile. 

The weary James immediately changed to an eager, 
lively boy as he grinned and said, “Come on and 
get the guns! Let’s go! We might see a turkey. If 
we do, that would be the end of Mr. Gobbler!” 

As soon as the cattle were watered and grazing, the 
three men left with their guns to look for game. They 
followed a winding footpath that was soon lost in the 
very dense woods. 



The First Stop 


67 


Halfway across the clearing David turned and ran 
back saying, “Here’s a gun, Mother. Father said it 
would be safer for you to have one with you in this 
unsettled, wooded country. I’ll lean it here against 
the tree for you. But remember! It’s loaded.’’ 

With a cheery smile he was gone. 

“Why, Mother, can you shoot a gun?” asked Susan 
in a surprised voice. 

“Not very well, Susan. I have done it, of course, 
but not often. I suppose I could if it were necessary, 
though,” she added, as much to herself as to Susan. 






VI 

THE BEAR 


The sun was setting and the tall trees cast heavy 
shadows across the grass. The spring and the brook 
which led from it made strange noises as the water 
bubbled up, and rushed against the banks. The wind 
rustled through the trees, and deep in the woods a 
whippoorwill called. Susan watched a squirrel scurry 
to its nest hidden among the leaves of the tallest tree 
near the clearing. 

Unconsciously, Mother and Susan were talking in 
68 






The Bear 


69 


low tones. Tim was asleep, and Abigail sat not far 
away, leaning against a tree. 

Suddenly Susan heard a rustling in the bushes at 
the edge of the clearing behind Mother. A sharp 
plop, like the sound of a breaking log, split the still¬ 
ness. Susan glanced over in that direction expecting 
to see Steve run toward them. But her little figure 
grew tense, her face frightened. She opened her 
mouth to speak, but no words came. Then she 
pointed a shaking hand beyond Mother’s shoulder 
and whispered, “Mother, it’s a bear!” 

“Oh, it can’t be, Susan, don’t be imagining things!” 
Mother calmly answered before she turned about to 
look in the direction Susan pointed. 

Then she glanced over her shoulder. There was a 
huge black bear, standing perfectly still with his head 
on one side looking at them. Mother felt herself 
grow rigid with fear. In the deep silence she could 
hear her own heart beat. The thought that Father 
and the boys were far in the woods, that the bear 
was coming closer, and that here were Susan and Tim 
to be taken care of, rushed through her mind. But 
she calmly said, “Sit perfectly still, Susan. Don’t 
move an inch. I’ll shoot him.” 




7° 


Abigail 


“How can Mother be so calm?” Susan thought, 
but as she watched, she saw how her mother’s hands 
were shaking. 

“What can I do to help?” the little girl wondered. 
Then she remembered the old song Grandmother 
often sang whenever anything seemed very, very 
serious— Ta\e It to the Lord in Prayer. Susan shut her 
eyes quickly. “Oh, dear Jesus,” she whispered, “don’t 
let the bear eat us. Help Mother to kill him. Amen.” 

Susan’s eyes flew open. The bear was lumbering 
slowly across the clearing toward them. “Why 
doesn’t Mother shoot! Why is she so slow! Oh, 
dear! Oh, dear!” thought Susan. 

Seconds seemed hours to Susan as she watched 
Mother reach for the gun, reach so slowly that the 
bear did not seem to notice her movements. Mother 
braced it against the tree where it had been leaning. 
When the aim was true, and the gun was steady, 
Mother fired. The shot echoed and re-echoed. 

As the smoke cleared, Mother and Susan saw the 
bear lumbering away, back into the forest. In a mo¬ 
ment Father came running up. “What is it? What 
is it?” he shouted. “Why did you shoot?” 

“A bear,” excitedly answered Mother. 




She watched Mother reach for the gun. 


n 































The Bear 


73 


“Oh, no, it couldn’t have been! You must have 
been frightened,” said Father. 

David and James rushed up, David with a wild 
turkey slung over his shoulder and James with two 
squirrels on his belt. 

“What’s wrong? Who shot?” asked David. 

“Mother thought she saw a bear,” said Father. 

“Tom, I did see a bear—a great big black bear. I 
think I wounded him when I shot. Take your gun 
and follow his trail back of that sycamore,” said 
Mother, pointing to the big tree in front of which 
she had first seen the bear. 

Father looked serious, and telling James to stay 
with Mother and Susan, he said, “Come, Dave, we’ll 
see if we can find him.” 

Both men took their guns and hurried off into the 
woods. 

“Mother, where’s Abigail?” asked Susan. 

“Here she is, dear,” said Mother, putting Abigail 
in Susan's arms. “I really believe she fell over in 
fright when she saw the bear coming toward her.” 

“Or when she heard the gun,” suggested James. 
“Did you kill the bear, Mother?” he continued. “Tell 
me all about it.” 



74 


Abigail 


“I don’t think I killed him, son. I’m pretty sure 
that I hit him, though.” 

“Did you get scared, Susan?” he asked his sister. 
“Was the bear a big one?” 

“Well, I guess you’d be scared to see a great big 
black bear coming toward you!” answered Susan. 

“James, the men will be hungry when they get 
back. Will you start a good fire, please?” asked prac- 
tical Mother. “Susan, you—” 

Bang! Bang! The report of a gun sounded twice. 

“They’ve got him! They’ve got him!” shouted 
James, jumping up and down. “Can’t I go, Mother?” 

“Yes, run along, but leave a gun with me,” was 
Mother’s answer. “I’ve shot one bear today. I could 
shoot another, I guess.” 

Before long they heard the voices of the men re' 
turning through the woods. As soon as they reached 
Mother, the three men took hold of hands and 
formed a circle around Mother, singing: 


Mother killed a bear. 
Mother killed a bear, 
Heigh'o! the derry oh. 
Mother killed a bear. 



The Bear 


25 

Susan laughed to see Father dancing and singing 
with the boys in such a funny way. 

“You’re a fine shot, Mother!” said Father. “You 
hit the bear near the heart. It ran only a few yards 
into the woods. Talk about beginner’s luck! I 
couldn’t have done better myself,” and Father 
beamed with pride at his wife. 

“Come and see your bear, Mother,” cried David, 
swinging Susan up on his shoulder while James picked 
up Tim. Father took Mother’s arm and led the pro¬ 
cession back in the woods to the dead bear. 

“Oh, let me down quick so I can see!” cried Susan, 
as David pointed to a big, black object lying under a 
tree. 

“Did I really kill that big thing?” asked Mother 
doubtfully, as she gazed down at the bear. “Why did 
you shoot again, if I killed it?” 

“We found him howling with rage and pain, so 
Dave and I each took a shot to finish him,” explained 
Father. 

“I claim the skin for a rug for the hearth of the 
fireplace in our new cabin,” said Mother. “But, Susan, 
perhaps you should have it, for I think you saved my 
life because you warned me! You saw the bear first.” 



76 


Abigail 


“Well, it isn’t quite that bad,” smiled Father. “If 
a bear is left alone, he doesn’t often bother people. 
He probably smelled food, and came to get it. He 
might have attacked you, though, if you hadn’t shot.” 

Susan began to tell how she looked up and saw the 
bear. Mother began to tell how she was so fright' 
ened that she could hardly hold the gun. David be' 
gan to tell how lucky it was that he ran back with 
the gun and left it leaning against a tree that was 
within Mother’s reach. It seemed as though they 
would never tire of talking about the bear. 

In fact the time Mother shot the bear proved to 
be a favorite topic of conversation for many years in 
the Calvin family. 





VII 

MOTHER’S FAVORITE HYMN 


Father and David decided they would stay to skin 
the bear. “We will have to salt it and roll up the 
skin until we have time to stretch it for drying,” said 
Father. “Mother shall have her rug, and we’ll take 
the choice parts of the meat with us.” 

Mother, James and Susan went back to prepare 
supper. 

“Put some potatoes in the ashes to bake, James,” 
suggested Mother. “We will have cold roast chicken, 
potatoes, milk—and a surprise! We can’t have the 


77 


78 


Abigail 


surprise without the hoe. Susan, while I milk Butter' 
cup and Molly, you run over to the wagon and bring 
me the hoe. After you put the potatoes in to bake, 
James, take a bucket and bring some water from the 
spring.” 

Mother sat down to milk the cows as she finished 
speaking, and soon her pail was full of rich, foamy 
milk. 

She poured some of the water James brought into 
one of the kettles hanging over the fire. When it be' 
gan to boil, she stirred in some salt and com meal. 
While she continued to stir it, she told James to take 
the handle off the hoe. Then she asked him to run 
back to Father to get some bear grease. 

To Susan’s surprise, she saw Mother clean off the 
hoe. When James returned, she greased it with bear 
grease, put the soft dough from the kettle on the hoe, 
and placed it near the fire. She answered the sur' 
prised expression on Susan’s face by explaining, “This 
is going to be hoecake, but it will taste just like the 
johnnycake we used to make in Virginia. I know how 
to make it yet another way, too. Some day I’ll wrap 
the dough up in cabbage leaves or in fresh com husks 
and put it on the hearth and cover it with hot coals. 



Mother^ Favorite Hymn 


79 


We call that ashcake. You can do lots of things when 
you have to. In the new country we’ll have to think 
of new ways to do a great many things, I imagine.” 

Everyone was ready for bed as soon as the supper 
things were all washed and carefully put away. No 
matter how tired she was, Mother insisted on all the 
work being done, and done well. 

David built a blazing fire near the rear of the wagon 
and ordered Steve to stand guard. After gathering 
wood for the night, the three men rolled up in their 
blankets and lay down between the fire and the 
wagon with their guns close beside them. Mother, 
Timothy, Susan, and Abigail were safe and comfort' 
able on the feather beds inside the wagon. The wind 
blew in sharp gusts about the covered wagon, but the 
canvas top held firm. Strange noises of the night 
drifted across the clearing from the woods beyond. 

Susan lay wide awake with Abigail beside her. 
She heard Mother sigh — as though her thoughts 
were far from happy ones. Then Susan heard Father 
say something to the boys in a low undertone. 

All was still—as though the whole woods stood 
silent to listen. Then Father’s voice began to sing 
Mother’s favorite hymn. David’s ringing baritone 



8o 


Abigail 


took up the tune, and in a moment James joined the 
singing. 

At the end of the first verse Susan began to sing, 
too, and before the third verse was finished, Mother 
found herself singing in the clear soprano all her chib 
dren loved. 

AWAKE MY SOUL, STRETCH EVERY NERVE 

Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve. 

And press with vigor on; 

A heav’nly race demands thy seal. 

And an immortal crown. 

A cloud of witnesses around 
Hold thee in full survey; 

Forget the steps already trod, 

And onward urge thy way. 

’Tis God’s albanimating voice 
That calls thee from on high; 

’Tis His own hand presents the prise 
To thine aspiring eye. 

That prise with peerless glories bright 
Which shall new luster boast, 

When victors’ wreaths and monarchs’ gems 
Shall blend in common dust. 

Blest Savior, introduced by Thee, 

Have I my race begun; 

And, crowned with vict’ry, at Thy feet 
I’ll lay my honors down. 



Mother^ Favorite Hymn 


81 


Each one of the five verses rang clear and true 
through the Kentucky wilderness. But as the words 
of the last verse ended, the very wind seemed more 
friendly, its harsh gusts changing to a gentle, 
drowsy lullaby. 

In a few moments the Calvins were asleep. 
***** 

The next morning Mother handed Susan a pack¬ 
age from Grandmother as she said, “You see, Susan, 
Grandmother has another surprise for you.” 

When Susan opened the package, she found a piece 
of cloth cut from an old plaid shawl which she had 
seen Grandmother wear many, many times. A sheet 
of paper was fastened to it with one of the largest 
pins Susan had ever seen. She read the paper: Dear 
Susan: Use this big pin to ravel out the cloth around 
each edge to make a fringe for a shawl for Abigail. 

To Susan's surprise, under the package which con¬ 
tained the material for Abigail’s shawl was a second 
square package. In it she found a piece of brown 
cloth which she recognized as a piece left from the 
cloth Grandmother, herself, had woven for her warm 
winter coat. In the same package were a pattern for 
both a coat and a bonnet, and thread and needles. 



82 


Abigail 


In a tiny box was a little silver thimble with a name 
engraved on it. 

Susan looked at the thimble carefully, and spelled 
out each letter of the name aloud, “T'h'U'r'Z'a. Why, 
that must have belonged to Grandmother's mother," 
said Susan. “Grandmother s name is Abigail, and 
her mother's name was Thurza. Grandmother told 
me all about her! She must have had that thimble 
when she was a little girl in Virginia." 

Folded in this package was a long letter in Grand' 
mother's fine, small writing. It read: 


Dear Susan: 

Here is some cloth for a coat and a bonnet for 
Abigail. If you pin the pattern on the cloth care' 
fully as I have written on the pattern, you will find 
there will be enough cloth for a bonnet, too. 

My mother’s brother brought this silver thimble 
to her from England when she was just your age, 
and she learned to sew with it. I hope you will take 
good care of it and keep it as long as I have. I 
learned to sew with it, and your mother used it when, 
she learned to sew, too. It will make me very happy 
to think you are using it as you are learning to take 
small, even stitches. 


Grandmother 



Mother^ Favorite Hymn 


83 

“Oh, Mother, isn’t Grandmother nice? And only 
yesterday I thought it was queer she let Abigail 
start on a long journey without a coat. That’s a joke 
on me!” 

“I think it was a very good idea of Grand' 
mother’s,” answered Mother. “She thought we 
might be delayed on the road and you would like to 
have some way to busy yourself.” 

“My grandmother is the best grandmother in the 
world! I know she is, and I’m glad I belong to her,” 
said Susan happily, as she began to make the fringe 
on Abigail’s shawl. 

The three following days passed quietly. The roads 
grew worse, so traveling was slow. The men took 
their turns driving the cows, riding Dan, and driving 
the oxen. 

Susan waved to the children she saw playing out' 
side the few cabins they passed. She often held Abi' 
gail up for them to see, and as the wagon jolted, 
Abigail’s head would nod, just as though she, herself, 
were bowing to the children. 

Often they would drive for hours and would see 
no one. Then Susan amused herself by looking for 
pictures in the white clouds in the sky. She found 



84 


Abigafl^ 


that if she looked carefully she could see lovely pic' 
tures—sometimes an animal, sometimes a range of 
high mountains—and once she saw clouds that looked 
exactly like Mary and her little lamb. 





VIII 

AN OHIO RIVER INDIAN STORY 

“Today is the most important day of our trip!” 
exclaimed Father the morning of the fifth day after 
they had left their old Kentucky home. 

“What happens today?” asked Susan. “Oh, I 
know; we cross the Ohio River, don’t we?” 

“That’s right. We do. Or rather the ferry takes 
us across! The ’Hio will be a great sight. You can’t 
imagine such a big river, Susan.” 

“Is it pretty?” asked Mother. 

85 









86 


Abigail 


“No, not exactly pretty,” answered Father. “It’s 
too muddydooking. But that wide expanse of water, 
almost like a lake, always interests me. Perhaps we 
will see some of the big river steamboats.” 

“Let’s hurry and eat so we can start,” urged James, 
eager to see the much'talked'of ’Hio. 

With everyone helping, the wagon was quickly 
packed. “It’s amazing to me how fast we can work 
when there’s something ahead we want to see!” ex' 
claimed Father jokingly. 

After a few miles, Susan noticed that the wagon 
had stopped lurching from side to side. The road 
seemed to be more smooth, and the log cabins were 
closer together. Across the hills were broad fields 
and green meadows, while here and there were apple 
orchards tinged with the soft green of early spring. 
It was the season of spring rains; the mudholes were 
full of water, and the brooks were overflowing their 
banks. The Calvin family rode on in silence, each 
one waiting for the first glimpse of the great river. 

“We’re in the ’Hio valley!” finally called James, 
from where he was riding Dan, far ahead of the cow 
ered wagon. “See, they’re getting ready to plant 
tobacco—acres and acres of it.” 



An Ohio River Indian Story 


As the wagon drew up, Susan looked back at the 
rich flat land. Father drove the wagon a few feet 
farther to a high, dry portion of the river's bank and 
came to a stop. He jumped down from the seat, 
helped Mother and Tim down, and called gaily, “All 
out! Come and see the big river. Here’s a fine view. 
You’ll never forget it.’’ Then he lifted Susan down 
and led her around the wagon, beyond the team of 
oxen, where she could see the river. 

“There’s the Ohio,” he said impressively, pointing 
to the wide, brown river in the distance. “She’s not 
very high now, because we haven’t had enough rains, 
but sometimes I’ve heard that she rises many feet, 
overflows her banks, and covers all that fine black 
earth on either side. The ’Hio is a wicked thing! She 
whirls and eddies and roars as though she wanted to 
go higher and higher. Folks have lost their lives 
fighting her floods.” 

Susan felt a shiver go up and down her spine as 
she thought of that powerful river, already as wide 
as a lake, growing wider and deeper. 

The great broad river lay before them. On the far¬ 
ther side there was a range of bluffs which seemed 
to Susan beautiful banks, rising high on either side. 



88 


Abigail 


“What a lot of water!” exclaimed David. “It’s 
almost an ocean.” 

“Holy Moses!” said James, commg up with the 
cows. “What a river! Look how it eddies. It must 
have a powerful strong current.” 

“You’re right, Tom,” said Mother softly, “it is 
majestic. Isn’t this a beautiful valley! But where is 
Susan?” 

“Here I am,” came the answer. “I just ran to get 
Abigail to show her the ’Hio, too.” 

“That’s Madison over there,” Father told them, 
pointing to a group of houses across the river. “We 
will stop a few hours there for trading. I want to 
get glass for the windows of our new cabin. We need 
rope, and we ought to have powder and shot before 
going on.” 

“Look! What’s that coming down the river?” 
asked Mother, pointing to a queer boat floating upon 
the surface of the water with a cabin built in the 
center. 

“Oh, I’m glad we can see that,” said Father. “I’ve 
heard about them, but I never saw one before. It is 
called a broadhom. You know settlers can sometimes 
travel to their new homes more easily by water than 



An Ohio River Indian Story 


«2 


by land. We are traveling by land in a covered 
wagon. They have built a big flatboat and in the 
center of it they built a cabin where they live as 
they travel by water. Look closely, and you can see 
the cattle back of the cabin. They have a rowboat 
fastened behind and the washing is hung out to dry.” 

The Calvins stood watching the queer-looking boat 
as it seemed to drift down the river. 

“Look, James,” called David, “watch the man 
standing at the back! See how he guides the boat 
with that long pole. The whole thing is like a raft, 
isn’t it, Father?” 

“Yes, the flatboat is built of big logs. That family 
will use the deck and sides to make floors for their 
new cabin. See, Susan, there is a railing all around 
the edge of the flatboat so that the children and the 
cattle can’t fall into the water.” 

“Where do you suppose they have come from, 
Tom?” asked Mother. 

“Oh, somewhere back East—maybe as far as Pitts¬ 
burgh,” answered Father. “It used to be very dan¬ 
gerous to travel down the ’Hio River from Pitts¬ 
burgh, for there was a high rock on the bank not far 
from Cincinnati where the Indians watched the river 



Abigail 


§o 

night and day. When a boat load of settlers was 
seen, a band of Indians would often rush down, cap¬ 
ture the boat, kill the whites, scalp them, and carry 
off the boat’s cargo. Not so many years ago the In¬ 
dians were still warlike, and bitterly resented the 
white man’s coming to take more and more of their 
territory. 

“Come and sit down, all of you, on this flat rock, 
while I tell you a true story,” invited Father. 

Susan drew close to him, clutching Abigail tightly 
in her excitement. The eyes of the two boys never 
left his face. Mother looked off across the river, 
though her head was inclined to catch every word. 

“Some years ago two families were floating down 
the ’Hio in their flatboats to find new homes. They 
passed Cincinnati in safety, but one very dark night 
they were awakened by the cries of Indians, who 
were holding a war dance around a huge bonfire on 
the shore. Fortunately, the night was dark and there 
were no lights on either of the boats. 

“They pulled the rear boat loaded with horses, 
cattle, and live stock, close to the first boat and fas¬ 
tened the two together. Then, hoping that they 
might not be seen, the little party floated quietly past 




The little party floated quietly past the scene . 

9i 

































An Ohio River Indian Story 


93 


the scene of the Indian dance. The light of the bon- 
fire was too bright for them to slip by unseen. When 
the two boats had drifted opposite the fire, the In- 
dians saw them, and ordered them to come to shore 
and surrender. 

“Though the Indians shouted their war cries and 
used their bows and arrows, the head of the little 
party whispered to everyone to remain well con- 
cealed, and to keep perfectly quiet. 

“When the Indians received no answer to their 
command, they were puzzled. They stopped dancing 
about the bonfire and shouting. A brief council was 
held. Then several Indian braves paddled toward 
them in their canoes. But the two boats floated on, 
silently, without any sign of life. 

‘The Indians paddled close. Alarmed by the si' 
lence, several halted and allowed their canoes to drift. 
A few, braver than the rest, circled the two boats. 
Others came close and peered in. But no one was to 
be seen, for everybody was carefully hidden. Perhaps 
the Indians thought it was a boat manned by dead 
men, for the leader suddenly uttered one word, and 
then all paddled quickly away, glad to return to their 
camp fire. 



21 


Abigail 


“The little party of white settlers were safe. They 
cautiously continued their journey and eventually 
found pleasant homes near one of the settlements in 
the southern part of Indiana.” 

“That’s the best story I ever heard you tell, Fa¬ 
ther,” said David. 

“Did it really happen?” asked Susan. 

“Yes, the man who was the head of the party and 
told everyone to keep perfectly quiet, was the one 
who told it to me,” answered Father. 

“I’m glad we’re traveling in a covered wagon,” 
said Susan. “I’d rather meet bears than Indians.” 





CROSSING THE OHIO RIVER 

“Let's drive on down to the river’s edge,” said 
Father. “That must be our ferry coming over to this 
side now.” 

The family saw a large, flat boat crossing from the 
opposite shore. 

“Bring Abigail and come and sit on the seat be- 
tween Mother and me, Susan,” invited Father. “You 
must see all that goes on. Dave, put my gun in the 
back of the wagon. We won’t need it in Madison.” 


95 






£6 


Abigail 


“Oh! This is much nicer up here,” exclaimed 
Susan, as she settled herself on the high wagon seat. 
“I like to see what is coming, instead of what we are 
leaving behind. Don’t you love it, Mother?” 

Mother nodded as she watched Father drive the 
oxen down the steep hill and across the flat river 
valley to the ferry landing. There was the ferry boat 
waiting for them. 

The ferry was a flat bottom boat that looked to 
Susan very much like the floor of the biggest store 
at home. Around this floor was a strong log railing 
to keep people and animals from falling into the river. 

Slowly and carefully Father drove the oxen and 
wagon on the ferry boat. Dave jumped off Dan’s 
back and led him on the ferry. James drove Butter' 
cup and Molly onto the ferry, while Steve went 
frisking all over the boat. 

“Well,” gasped Susan, “I never thought I’d take 
a wagon ride on a river! Isn’t it fun, Abigail?” 

From where Susan sat in the wagon she could see 
a pair of strong ropes attached to one side of the 
ferry. These were fastened by means of pulleys to a 
much larger rope which extended clear across the 
river. Each end of the rope was tied securely to a 





The jerry was a flat bottom boat. 


97 

































Crossing the Ohio River 


99 


big pile on each side of the river, but as Father ex¬ 
plained, “One pile was in Kentucky, and the other 
pile was across the river in Indiana.” 

Two men with strong poles dipped them to the 
bottom of the river and pushed the flat boat along. 
The heavy ropes kept the boat from being pulled 
from its course by the strong current. 

As the ferry drew close to the Indiana shore, James 
and David slipped between the groups of people, cat¬ 
tle, and packing cases, up to the bow. Here they 
stood, watching the men on shore tie ropes around 
the piles on the dock to make the ferry secure. How 
fast they worked with the ropes, for it seemed that 
everybody wanted to get off at the same time. Tall 
negroes were laughing, singing, and pushing each 
other about as they unloaded bundles of pelts to be 
shipped to Cincinnati. Bags of wheat and beans, bun¬ 
dles of wool, tall willow baskets—some filled with 
cheese and eggs—cows, sheep, horses, these all added 
to the confusion on the dock. 

At last it was the Calvins’ turn to leave the ferry. 
Father drove the wagon; Dave followed, leading Dan, 
with Steve close behind him. James shoved and 
shouted at Molly and Buttercup. The cows slowly 



100 


Abigail 


looked from side to side, switched their tails, and 
finally ambled slowly off the ferry. 

In the meantime Father had driven across the main 
street, where he tied the oxen to a hitching post. 
“Boys,” he called, “fasten the cattle to the wagon and 
give them feed. We will walk around town and do 
some trading. You boys will want to go down to the 
wharves to watch the boats load and unload. I sup¬ 
pose Mother and Susan will want to go in the stores. 
I have business and I want to see an old friend of 
mine. We will all meet here at the wagon in two 
hours.” 

The boys rushed away. Susan picked up Abigail 
and straightened her bonnet while Mother put on 
Tim’s coat. Then Susan took Mother’s hand and 
walked timidly beside her down the street. It was 
strange to the child to see so many houses close to¬ 
gether, some of which were painted a sparkling white. 
There were many carriages driving up and down the 
street, and many people hurrying about. Susan had 
never seen such a busy place. No one stopped to 
speak to her, and then she realized that very few peo¬ 
ple who passed did speak to one another. The men 
and women were dressed in handsome clothes, very 



Crossing the Ohio River _ioi 

different from the clothes Susan had ever seen worn. 

A flag of red and white stripes with a cluster of 
white stars on a blue background in one comer, was 
floating over the largest store. Mother and Susan 
went inside. 

The shelves in the front of the store were piled 
high with the most beautiful cloth. Susan overheard 
a woman ask to see a “piece of silk,” and as she 
watched the clerk show a lovely shiny fabric with 
flowers all over it, she kept saying over and over to 
herself, “Silk, silk.” To Susan it looked like a flower 
garden in the sunshine. 

As Susan and Mother walked slowly toward the 
back of the store they saw other shelves filled with 
shoes and boots, and pretty slippers with slim, high 
heels. 

In the back room of the store were things to eat. 
How good it smelled! There were raisins, kegs of 
New Orleans molasses, huge cheeses, boxes of salt 
fish, a crock of pickles, a barrel of coffee, tea, and 
neat little boxes of spices. 

“Mother, what are those pretty yellow balls?” 
asked Susan, pointing to a basket in which they were 
piled high. 



102 


Abigail 


“Those are oranges, Susan. I haven’t seen any 
since I left Virginia,” answered Mother. 

“What do you do with them?” was the next ques* 
tion. 

“Why, you eat them, child. They are very good. 
I’ll buy one for each of us as a great treat,” and 
Mother turned to the clerk and bought six. 

When Mother paid for them and the clerk handed 
her the package, they hurried out. They walked past 
several stores, and at last Mother stopped in front 
of a window which was filled with bottles—big ones, 
little ones, and medium-sized ones—each filled with a 
different colored fluid. Mother explained that it was 
called an Apothecary Shop, where one could buy 
every kind of medicine. Susan had never known 
there were so many medicines in so many colors. 

In the next shop window Susan looked longingly 
at a beautiful pink umbrella with a long white handle. 

“That’s called a parasol, Susan, and you carry it to 
keep the sun off your head,” explained Mother. 

Susan burst out laughing as she asked, “Why 
should anyone want to keep the sun off? How silly!” 

Before Mother could answer, she looked across the 
street and saw Father talking to a man. He saw them. 



Crossing the Ohio River _ 103 

waved, and both men crossed over to Mother and 
Susan. He introduced his old friend Frank Gardener 
to Mother and Susan, explaining, “Frank and I were 
boys together. Now he lives here in Madison.” 

“I have been telling Tom,” said Mr. Gardener, 
“that Madison is second only to Cincinnati as a port 
in the middle west. In one month last year two hum 
dred thousand hogs were butchered and packed here. 
Madison is often called ‘The Gateway to the State’ 
and I like that, don’t you?” 

From where they stood they could see the big 
river steamboats lying along the river front, with bags 
of wheat piled high along the wharves, waiting to be 
put aboard. “That wheat will be sent as far south 
as New Orleans, and as far east as Europe,” said 
Mr. Gardener. 

A steady procession of covered wagons which 
looked just like the Calvins’ wagon, crawled toward 
the wharves with produce to sell. “They’ve driven 
from Indiana down to the Ohio River to ship their 
goods,” he explained, as they watched one wagon urn 
load and saw the men take out bags of wheat, large 
bundles of straw, and a bag of white beans. “Those 
two bundles of ’coon skins and that other bundle of 




104 


Abigail 


muskrat hides will bring a good price,” Mr. Gardener 
added. 

“Don’t the women send anything to sell?” asked 
Mother. 

“Yes indeed, Mrs. Calvin,” replied Frank Gar- 
dener. “You’ll always find a green willow basket mv 
der the driver’s seat. In it you’ll generally see a roll 
of blue jeans, some eggs, cheeses, pickles, jelly, and 
some heavy knit stockings. Oh, yes,” he laughed, as 
he turned to Susan, “there is often a bundle of ginseng 
roots that the children find in the woods. If you 
gather any, send it down to me. I’ll sell it for you for 
a good price to someone who will ship it clear to 
China.” 

So they talked on about this valley of the ’Hio, so 
new to the Calvins, yet so full of opportunity. At 
last Father asked about the roads into Brown County. 

“Most of these wagons turn off before they reach 
the White River,” was the answer. “I understand 
the roads are passable that far. But from the White 
River on, there is only a blazed trail into Brown 
County.” 

“How about the White River?” asked Father. 

“Well, Tom, you really ought to hurry on,” was 



Crossing^ the Ohio River 


ios 


the serious answer. “The White River is high now. 
The spring rains will soon make it hard to find a place 
to ford.” 

Mother sighed, for she knew well the dangers of 
high water. 

Father straightened his shoulders as he said, “In 
fifteen minutes we meet the boys at the wagon. I’ve 
already put in the rope, the powder, the shot, and 
the glass. We’ll leave Madison tonight.” 

“You’ll have good roads for at least two days. I’m 
sorry to see you hurry through. Look me up when 
you come back to trade.” 

“Good-by, Frank,” said Father, as the two men 
shook hands. 





X 

THE STORM 


Warm sunshine and fairly good roads made the 
travel for the next two days unusually pleasant. The 
oranges which Mother bought in Madison were 
served as a surprise dessert for Sunday supper, and 
Sunday evening after prayers, they all sang Mother’s 
favorite hymn again, hoping it would give her the 
pleasure her surprise gift of oranges had given them. 

When Susan woke up Monday morning, she found 
it cold and dark, with clouds hanging low in the sky. 

106 


The Storm 


107 


After a hurried breakfast the family pushed on. The 
roads grew steadily worse as they drove farther and 
farther from Madison. Soon the road the Calvins 
were following became little more than a wagon 
track, as it wound between stumps and boulders, 
chuck holes and logs. 

Woods, woods, woods extended as far as they 
could see, though perhaps once in the morning and 
once in the afternoon they would pass a farm, the 
land partly cleared, with a log cabin in the center of 
the clearing. The wind moaned through the trees 
and clutched at the covered wagon, shaking it 
angrily. Abigail’s red sunbonnet blew off. David, 
plodding along behind with the cows, caught it and 
handed it to Susan saying, “I found this red bird in a 
bush! Do you know what to do with it?” 

Father watched the clouds settling lower and lower 
until a gray-green mist seemed to shut them in from 
the rest of the world. Susan pinned Abigail’s shawl 
about her closely, and tucked her deep in the feather 
bed. The wagon lurched over a stump in the road, 
and Susan slid against the old chest. 

“Carrie, we are going to have a storm. I believe 
you and Tim had better get inside the wagon with 



io8 


Abigail 


Susan,” she heard Father say above the howling of 
the wind. He brought the oxen to a stop, helped 
Mother and Tim down, and walked with them to the 
back of the wagon. 

“Baby Tim and I are coming in here with you, 
Susan,” Mother said anxiously. “Father thinks a hard 
storm is coming.” 

“Hop out,” called Father in a businesslike way. “I 
want to make a comfortable place for Mother and 
Tim in here on the feather bed with you.” 

Father pushed the furniture back close to the sides 
of the wagon to make more room. Susan thought 
of what Mr. Gardener had said a hard rain would do 
to the White River. 

“David, see that the canvas is fastened down tight,” 
directed Father. “James, drive the cattle on as long 
as you can. If a heavy rain comes and they stop, 
we’ll be stuck here. I’ll take care of the wagon.” 

“Tom, hadn’t you better take the chickens out of 
the coop under the wagon?” called Mother. 

Father reached under the wagon and untied the 
coop. As he took each chicken out, he tied its legs 
together and tossed it up in the wagon. 

Hardly was Father back on the wagon seat when 



The Storm 


iog 

a strong gale caught the wagon, pulling the canvas 
top so that the ropes screeched with the strain. The 
wind whistled through the trees, which swayed and 
bent until it seemed they must snap. The canvas 
cover shook and pulled until Susan felt sure it would 
be tom off. 

“Mother, I’m afraid the cover will blow off,” said 
Susan. 

“You needn’t be. Grandfather said it was strong 
and would stand any wind. Don’t you remember how 
tightly he tied it down, and how carefully he fitted 
each hoop?” answered Mother. 

The wind blew in strange, queer puffs, each 
stronger than the last. But the canvas top held tight 
and firm, just as Grandfather had said it would. The 
sky grew black. Suddenly sharp lightning zigzagged 
across the sky, illuminating the surrounding forest. 

“Abigail, this is the most dreadful storm,” mur¬ 
mured Susan. The rest of Susan’s sentence was lost 
in a rumble of thunder that ended with a deep boom. 
Lightning and more thunder followed. Baby Tim 
seemed frightened and screamed almost as loudly as 
the thunder roared, or so it seemed to wide-eyed 
Susan. 



no 


Abigail 


Mother leaned over and said between claps of 
thunder, “The dwarfs are playing at ninepins, Susan." 
This made Susan smile, for one of her favorite stories 
was Rip Van Winkle. 

Then came the rain! At first a few drops struck 
the canvas top with such force that it seemed as if 
small stones were being hurled at them by a forest 
giant. Then came a downpour. The rain swept over 
them, making the road a river of whirling mud. 

“I do believe the rain doesn’t stop to come in drops. 
It just comes in pailfuls,’’ said Susan to Abigail, as 
she pushed her far under the chest where she couldn’t 
possibly get wet. 

The faithful oxen strained on, pulling the wagon 
through mud that was fast creeping up toward the 
hubs of the wheels. Looking back, Susan could 
scarcely see the boys vainly trying to drive Buttercup 
and Molly in the wagon’s wake. They merely stood 
with their backs to the storm, refusing to move. 

“Oh, Mother,” shouted Susan above the clap of 
the thunder and the noise of the rain pelting against 
the tightly stretched canvas, “look at the mud! 
David and James are soaked, and the cows won’t 
budge.” 




Then came the rain! 


hi 





























The Storm 


111 

Mother’s heart sank as she looked back. Mud! 
Mud! Mud! Could they ever get through it? Mother 
noticed that the wagon wheels were slipping. Twice 
the wagon careened against tall trees and the sturdy 
oxen slipped to their knees again and again. But they 
struggled up, and trudged slowly on. Father calling 
to them above the roar of the storm. Foot by foot 
the wagon lurched forward while Mother and Susan 
held their breath, feeling that each wagon length for- 
ward brought them nearer shelter and safety. 

Then came one last lurch—one sudden jerk—and 
the wagon stood motionless. Mother and Susan 
looked over Father’s shoulder to see the oxen strain¬ 
ing to lift their feet out of the mud. The oxen could 
drag the wagon no farther; even their great strength 
was powerless against the deep mud. 

“Well, we’re stopped!’’ said Father, quietly. 

Not a word was spoken as the rain beat on the can¬ 
vas and the trees screeched and groaned in the high 
wind. Suddenly they heard a crack—a splintering 
of wood and a tearing of branches—as a large tree 
fell in the road directly behind them. 

Mother caught her breath. Susan gasped in fright. 
But in a moment Father appeared at the rear of the 



XX£ 


Abigail 


wagon. “Well,” he shouted, “we’re stuck for sure! 
We can’t go forward, and we can’t go back. There’s 
nothing to do but wait for the storm to pass. Then 
we will cut logs and big branches and lay them along 
this low section of the road. The oxen can walk 
over a road of branches and pull the wagon, too, with' 
out sinking too deep in the mud. There’s higher 
ground ahead. These rains never last long,” said 
Father, as though this were all a part of pioneering. 

“Susan, now is a good time for you to cut out Abi' 
gail’s coat and bonnet and sew on them, isn’t it?” 
suggested Mother. 

Susan was glad to have something to do. She found 
the patterns and the material and cut them out easily, 
for the wagon was standing still. Soon she began to 
sew. There was something very comforting about 
the feel of the little silver thimble on her finger. As 
Susan made small, even stitches, she wondered to 
herself how Thurza would have felt if a big forest 
tree had crashed to the ground just behind her. 

After a time the wind gradually died down, and 
the rain became a gentle spring shower. As Father 
had said, the storm was passing. 

Father, David, and James took out their axes and 



The Storm 


Hi 

began to cut down small trees and heavy overhang' 
ing branches. After they had cut them, they dragged 
them into place, and covered the muddy road ahead. 
Thus, they made a firm footing over which the oxen 
could draw the wagon without sinking into the appar' 
ently bottomless sea of mud beneath. The three men 
worked steadily, for as Father said, another hard rain 
would make the road that much worse, and they 
must get the wagon and cattle to high ground quickly. 

“Over beyond that low ridge is the White River; 
we must make it by nightfall,” he said. 

In the middle of the afternoon when the rain had 
stopped, Susan slipped off her shoes and stockings 
and ran about, helping to carpet the road with the 
lighter branches which she could carry. The mud 
felt cold to her bare feet, but it was fun to feel it ooze 
up between her toes. 

Mother smiled as she watched Susan pick her way 
gingerly among the puddles. Life was hard in this 
new country, and she believed in letting little girls 
do lots of things boys did, for they all would have 
to learn to make the best of hard things. 



XI 

CROSSING THE WHITE RIVER 

Toward sunset Susan went back down the road to 
bring Molly and Buttercup an armful of sweet fresh 
grass. “It won’t help much with the road,” she said 
to herself after her arms were full, “and how the 
cows will enjoy it for supper.” 

She tossed it in a pile in front of them and smiled 
to see how quickly they swallowed it. As she turned 
away she saw in the distance a team of oxen wallow^ 
116 




Crossing^ the White River 


Ill 


mg in the mud far down the road over which they 
had come that morning. She shaded her eyes and 
looked again. 

Sure enough! The oxen were drawing a covered 
wagon. On it came, but so slowly it scarcely seemed 
to move. She watched breathlessly as it drew nearer. 
Suddenly the oxen seemed to sink far down in the 
mud, and then stand perfectly still. She saw four 
men climb out of the wagon; in a moment they had 
their axes, and the sound of chopping filled the air. 

‘They're stuck, too,” exclaimed Susan. 

“That is good!” exclaimed Mother when Susan 
told her of their neighbors. “Many hands will make 
light work of filling the road, and we can all help 
each other in crossing the White River, too.” 

“May I go and see if there are any little girls in 
the wagon?” asked Susan. 

“Yes, run along,” answered Mother, “but hold up 
your skirts so they don’t get too wet and muddy.” 

When Susan came back she told Mother that there 
were two more wagons which she hadn’t seen— 
three in all — wanting to cross the White River. 
“They are all old friends, going to new homes to* 
gether,” said Susan. “There are ten children in the 



ii8_ Abigail 

three wagons. One of the women, Mrs. Presley, said 
it would be nice if we could all have dinner together. 
I said I thought we could eat outdoors on the high 
ground of the roadside. She told me to ask you if 
we would join them.” 

“What a splendid idea!” agreed Mother. “Well 
make a jolly time out of what seemed to me this 
morning might be a real hardship.” 

Mother pinned up her skirts, took off her shoes 
and stockings, and climbed quietly out of the wagon, 
leaving Tim asleep. Susan helped Mother unpack the 
cooking kettles and food. Then they both went down 
the road to where a fire was burning and potatoes 
and venison were roasting. The women and children 
became well acquainted as they prepared supper, and 
the men and boys worked together carrying logs and 
branches to lay across the road. 

Mr. Presley had killed a deer the day before, and 
soon the women were broiling thick steaks of venh 
son over the open fire. Mother brought pitchers of 
new milk, a crock of yellow butter, and piles of 
steaming hoecake to add to the feast. 

“How far are you folks going?” Father asked, as 
they were all seated at supper. 



Crossing the White River 


112 

“Across the White River and east to Greenfield,” 
one man replied. “Where are you bound for?” 

“We’re on our way to Jacksonburg, in Brown 
County. After this rain, I’m wondering if we’ll ever 
be able to ford the White River! What do you 
think?” 

“I dunno! It will be a job all right,” was the 
answer. 

The day’s heavy work, the good meal, and the 
warm fire, all made them very sleepy. As soon as the 
meal was finished each family went back to its wagon 
to sleep. The stars were twinkling in the clear sky. 

“Mother, haven’t we had a good time?” asked 
Susan, as they skirted mud puddles on their return. 

The cattle were already asleep, and in a little while 
all the family was asleep, Abigail in Susan’s arms. 

By noon the next day the road was ready to use. 
Father borrowed an extra team of oxen from the 
Presleys to hitch to the Calvins’ wagon. With skill¬ 
ful driving, the family walking, and all the men in the 
group pushing from the rear, the Calvins’ covered 
wagon was finally pulled to high ground. Then Fa¬ 
ther unhitched his oxen and loaned them to the 
other men. 



120 


Abigail 


“Calvin, you sure know how to handle those 
beasts!” said the owner of the next wagon. “I liked 
the way you got through. I can’t do that well! Will 
you drive my wagon?” 

Susan was proud of Father as she watched him 
climb on the seat and swing the oxen into line. She 
was even more proud when the second wagon stood 
safe beside their own. 

“I’ve heard tell that practice makes perfect,” called 
the owner of the next wagon. “How about trying 
mine?” 

Father drove the next wagon, and the next, down 
the muddy road, and up the bank. At last the four 
covered wagons stood in a row, facing the White 
River. Then the men and boys cheered, but Father 
laughed, pulled his gray beard and said, “Shucks! 
Anybody can drive a good team over a good road. 
We’ve had the best roadmakers in Indiana working 
on that stretch of road, and I’ve never handled finer 
oxen!” 

Not far below them surged the White River, ah 
ready high on its banks. 

“Well, there’s nothing to do but ferry the wagons 
over,” said Father to the man nearest. “The oxen. 



Crossing the White River 


121 


cattle and horses can swim across. I had hoped to 
ford it, but I’d never risk my wagon in that current! 
The river’s too deep. The first thing to do is to make 
a raft!” 

All the men quickly cut down straight trees of me' 
dium size, and hauled the logs to the river’s edge. 
Here they were laid close together, while two men, 
more experienced than the rest, tied the logs together 
and bound them securely to strong poles laid across 
each end of the logs. 

“Aren’t we going to build any sort of a railing 
around the raft?” asked David. 

“We haven’t time,” came Father’s abrupt answer. 
“The river has risen a foot since we’ve been here 
working. Hitch a pair of our oxen to the raft and 
drag it into the river. Tie it to yonder tree so it 
can’t get away from you. Put a wagon on the raft 
and tie it on to stay! One slip is one slip too many, 
for the wagon will lurch into the river.” 

Even as Father spoke, the raft was tied to a tree 
where it rested partly on the bank, and partly in the 
stream. A covered wagon was rolled onto it, and 
four men worked at the four comers tying it securely. 

“You know, Abigail, that covered wagon waddled 



122 


Abigail 


down to the raft like a big white duck,” said Susan, 
who sat on a log not far away, holding her doll and 
watching the preparations. 

As Susan watched. Father put the yoke on his 
oxen. He led them to the river’s edge, then out into 
the stream. Quickly he tied one end of a long rope 
to the raft, and the other end to the yoke. Then he 
seated himself between the two oxen on the yoke 
itself, his arms outstretched with a hand on the neck 
of each ox. 

“Abigail, will you look where Father is sitting to 
drive those oxen!” exclaimed Susan. 

“Are you ready?” shouted Mr. Presley to Father. 

“All ready!” came the answer. 

“Untie the raft, then,” called a second man, “but 
hold on tight to the rope. Use it to keep the raft 
from drifting downstream.” 

As Susan watched, the oxen walked straight into 
the river. She saw the water creep up above their 
legs, up their sides, and finally cover their backs. 
Soon only their heads were above water. Father sat 
on the yoke, talking to the animals understandingly, 
she was sure. The raft, with the covered wagon on 
it, was being pulled straight across the river. 




The raft ivas 


being pulled straight across the river. 


123 












Crossing the White River 


“Just look, Abigail! You’ll probably never again 
see oxen swimming a river and pulling a covered 
wagon at the same time,” said Susan. Abigail looked 
straight ahead, her blue eyes big and round. 

Slowly the oxen swam the river and reached the 
opposite bank. She watched them wade out, and 
saw Father jump down from the yoke and untie the 
wagon from the raft. Then she saw him hitch the 
oxen to the wagon and pull it up the bank 
At a word from Father the men pulled the raft 
back to its starting place, using the rope which they 
had held all the time. Three more times the trip was 
made, and soon four wagons stood safe on the oppo' 
site bank of the White River. 

The women and children who had anxiously 
watched the ferrying of the first three wagons, were 
all loaded into the last covered wagon to cross. 

David drove the horses and cattle into the water, 
and Susan was surprised to see how well they could 
swim. But poor Dave, riding Dan, got thoroughly 
6oaked, for only Dan’s head and neck were above 
water, so deep was the river. 

That night four covered wagons camped near each 
other. Susan whispered to Abigail who lay beside 



126 


Abigail 


her on the feather bed, that while she hadn’t really 
been afraid all day, she was much happier in a cow 
ered wagon on land than she was in a covered wagon 
on water. 

Abigail said nothing, so Susan was sure she agreed. 





XII 

THE ARRIVAL 


Early the next morning, after all the good-bys were 
said, a group of three wagons followed the road 
northeast to Greenfield. The Calvins’ wagon alone 
followed the mere suggestion of a road straight north 
to Brown County. The next day the road became 
only a blazed trail. 

For two days more the covered wagon with a 
chicken coop swinging beneath it followed a blazed 
trail up thickly wooded hills and down into beautiful, 


127 



128 


Abigail 


quiet valleys. A bit of bark removed from a tree here 
and there along the way was the only sign of the 
road to Brown County in that spring of 1836. 

It was late in the afternoon that the Calvins first 
saw the little village of Jacksonburg nestled snugly 
in the valley, On the outskirts of the village, and 
standing quite alone, was a log cabin. The logs were 
unhewn with the spaces between filled with chips 
and then chinked with clay. 

As the white'topped, covered wagon drove up be' 
fore the doorway, jolly Uncle Sam threw open the 
door. 

“Well, here you are at last! I’m right glad to see 
you. Ma! Ma! Samanthy! Here they are,” he called. 
“How’d you get through? Roads pretty tough goin’? 
I hear the White River is as high as it’s ever been. 
How’d you cross it?” he asked, pounding David and 
James on the back. “Take the cattle out to the shed, 
boys, and feed them, right out yonder. Hop down, 
Susan! My, how you’ve grown! You’re taller than 
Samanthy by three inches, I’ll be bound,” he said, as 
he lifted her out of the back of the wagon and kissed 
both red cheeks. 

While the men were talking, Aunt Lina took 




■taJt/llfc SJt 


SMB***** 





“Well, here you are at last1” 


129 































































The Arrival 


131 

Mother and Tim into the cabin. Susan followed with 
Abigail and her portmanteau. 

“You must be all tuckered out, Carrie!” said Aunt 
Lina. “Here, give that baby to me and I’ll lay him 
on the bed. He’s a husky one, now ain’t he! He don’t 
seem a mite tired, do you now, Timmy?” 

Tim cooed and gurgled at Aunt Lina as if he had 
always known her, and Susan felt very proud of her 
little brother. 

“Supper’ll be ready right smart now, and you can 
go to bed early. Get a good rest and then you’ll be 
ready to pick out your new home tomorrow. We’ll 
have to move things about a little to make room for 
all the beds. If I’d only known when you would get 
here, I could have had things all ready. But you 
don’t mind, I guess. The men can sleep on the hay 
in the bam, and with Dave and James sleeping in the 
loft we’ll have plenty of room.” 

“My goodness, Mother, does Aunt Lina talk that 
fast all the time? I never heard anybody talk so 
much,” whispered Susan to Mother, as they stood 
combing their hair and washing for supper. 

As Mother made no reply, Susan looked about the 
cabin. On one side of the room was the great fire' 



132 


Abigail 


place with its crane, from which hung a steaming 
kettle. At either side of the fireplace and extending 
out into the room were wooden seats with high backs 
to keep off the draughts. From the rafters hung 
chains of dried apples, and smoked hams and bacon. 
A square hole was cut in the low ceiling through 
which the boys would climb when they went to bed 
in the loft. Through an open door in the end of the 
cabin, Susan could see the lean-to containing the 
large loom. 

As Susan finished washing, in ran her little cousin 
Samanthy. She was as plump as her mother. Her 
smile was just as jolly, and she could talk nearly as 
fast. She greeted Susan with a hug, and a loud kiss. 

“I’m awfully glad you are here, Susan,” said Saman¬ 
thy, putting her arm about her. “We can do every¬ 
thing together, just like sisters, can’t we? Come out 
to the bam with me this minute, and I’ll show you 
my pets. Was it fun coming up? We had a dreadful 
time when we came. The wagon got stuck in the 
mud, and we hated it. I got sick, and I’d have given 
anything to have never started!” 

“Oh, I didn’t hate it. I liked it most of the time,” 
said Susan. “But you see I had Abigail. Look, Abi- 



The Arrival 


133 


gail, this is my cousin Samanthy. Samanthy, this is 
Abigail.” Susan held the doll in her arms as she 
spoke, and Abigail seemed to bow most politely. 

“How do you do, Abigail! Oh, Susan, do let me 
hold her. I’ve never had a nice doll in all my life. 
I only have the things to play with that I make for 
myself. Where did you get her?” asked Samanthy 
in one breath, as she took Abigail in her arms. 

“Grandmother made her for me, and we’ve had 
the most fun together. I’ll ask Grandmother if she 
will make a doll for you, too,” Susan added kindly. 
“She’s coming up here to live near us next spring.” 

Out in the bam Samanthy showed Susan her treas- 
ures: the young ’coon her father had caught; the big 
black crow which was quite tame and would sit on 
Samanthy’s shoulder; the guinea-hen which followed 
her wherever she went; tiny fluffy baby chicks; and, 
last of all, a big turtle which Samanthy found one 
afternoon on her way home from school. 

Aunt Lina had an excellent dinner for them. “No 
wonder Sam’s so fat!” joked Father, as he took a third 
piece of dried apple pie, “with cooking like this three 
times a day.” 

The next morning everybody was up early and 



134 


Abigail 


busy with the many chores. Father and Uncle Sam 
fed the horses and milked the cows, while Dave 
drove them to pasture and James split the kindling 
wood. Aunt Lina fried salt pork and eggs in the 
fireplace for breakfast and Mother stirred up some of 
her good combread which she baked in the reflector, 
which was a big tin oven. 

During breakfast Uncle Sam told them about the 
land he wanted them to see. “There’s good land 
round about here, Tom, and you could get it easy 
’nough, but I've got my eye on the finest piece of 
land you ever did see. It's up Greasy Creek 'bout 
two miles. You’ll have to clear it, though.” 

“Oh, we expect to have to clear,” answered Father. 
“I’d rather be away from the village a piece, for we 
want plenty of room to spread out. I reckon if Dave 
can find him a wife among these Brown County girls, 
he’ll be getting married one of these days, and the 
boys and I figure we’d like to get enough land so we 
can all farm together. We’re a homey family, Sam; 
we like to stay near each other.” 

“That’s just what I said now, isn’t it, Lina? Well, 
I think I know just the piece to answer the purpose. 
Good rich bottom land, fine for tobacco; fine spring 



The Arrival 


£35 

on it, too. There’s a pretty hillside, Carrie, where 
you’ll want to build your cabin, and the prettiest hills 
are around it. Hurry through your breakfast so we 
can go and look at it.” 

Uncle Sam pushed back his chair and lighted his 
pipe while the others hurriedly finished the com' 
bread and coffee. 

Soon Father was ready. “Come, Dave and James, 
we need you to help pick out the new home site. 
Carrie, I’ll look over several places and then come 
back for you. Is that all right?” Mother smiled and 
nodded. 

“You and I will ride the horses, Tom,” Uncle Sam 
continued, “and the boys can walk. Be sure to take 
your guns, boys. You’ll find plenty of squirrels up 
Greasy Creek.” 

“Lina, let me help you fix things up,” said Mother 
in her sweet way, as the men left. “I don’t want to 
make you any more trouble than I have to! Don’t 
you think if we moved this chair over here and put 
the table over there, it would give us more room?” 
she asked, moving the furniture as she talked. 

“Sakes alive, Carrie! I’ve always said you had more 
sense about fixing up a place than anybody I’d ever 



136 


Abigail 


seen! Now why didn’t I think about changing that 
chair and table ’round? That’s a heap better! Run 
along, children. Go outdoors to play, while we red 
up here.” 

‘Til race you to the bam, Samanthy,” called Susan, 
picking up Abigail and rushing out the cabin door. 
She was there long before fat Samanthy arrived, 
and sat watching the old turtle move slowly across 
the bam floor. 

As the two little girls were playing together, Susan 
suddenly remembered the package her little friend 
Nancy Kennedy had given her to open the day after 
she reached her new home. Back to the house she 
ran to inquire about it. When Mother and Aunt 
Lina between them found it, Susan hurried back to 
the bam, anxious to show it to Samanthy. 

‘‘Let’s go out under the cherry tree to open it,” 
suggested Samanthy. ‘‘A bam isn’t a nice place to 
open a present.” 

Susan untied the red wool yam that tied it. “Oh, 
I guessed right,” she said delightedly. “The day I 
got it I guessed it was a basket!” 

“I never saw such a pretty basket,” exclaimed 
Samanthy. “It has a handle, too. Do you suppose 



The Arrival 


m 

we could learn to make them, Susan? I would love 
to have one just like it,” and she looked longingly 
at it. 

“Maybe we can! See, Nancy made a pad of pink 
calico to line the bottom. Her Sunday dress last sum' 
mer was made of cloth like that pink calico. She’s 
awfully smart! David promised me to make a table 
for my bedroom next winter when he isn’t busy, and 
then I’ll keep the basket on it. Won’t that be nice? 
But in the meantime you may put the basket wher' 
ever you’d like, Samanthy. We’ll pretend it’s yours!” 

“Then we’ll both have to write her to thank her, 
won’t we?” asked Samanthy. “We’ll do that the very 
first rainy day.” 





XIII 

NASHVILLE 

Before Susan and Samanthy knew it, a big bell 
sounded, calling them to dinner. When they went 
in they heard Father telling Mother about the land 
they had seen that morning up Greasy Creek. 

“You’ll like it, Carrie, I know. As soon as we fin' 
ish dinner I want to take you up. I didn’t look at 
anything else, because it didn’t seem necessary. No 
land could be any better than this. It’s just what 
we’ve wanted. Rich bottom land, plenty of water, 

138 






Nashville 


m 


good trees! David agrees with me that it’s pretty 
nigh perfect.” 

Susan had never seen Father so happy. He talked 
all through dinner telling of the many things he 
liked about the land. 

“I can’t see why such good land is for sale! There 
must be a nigger in the woodpile somewhere!” 
laughed Mother, as she tried to tease Father. 

“May Samanthy and I go to look at the land, Fa' 
ther? Please let us go,” urged Susan. 

“I reckon so,” answered Father. “I can hold you 
in front of me on Dan. Samanthy can ride with 
Mother on one of Sam’s horses.” 

Soon after the midday meal, they mounted the 
horses and rode down the street. Susan looked care' 
fully at the signs over the stores which stood on each 
of the comers of the crossroads. She spelled out 
loud: “J'O'e'l S-p-a-r'k-e-r G'e'n'e'na'l S't'O'r'e 
H'a'rm'e'S'S S'h'O'p P'l'O'U'g'h'S.” 

“That’s the road to Bloomington,” Samanthy told 
them, pointing to the road that led south. “That 
other road leading over the hill goes to the mill on 
Salt Creek. Father takes all our com there to be 
ground.” 



140 


Abigail 


Across the road, on the opposite comer, Susan 
noticed a crowd of people standing outside a store. 
She wondered what they were waiting for. Then as 
she read the sign she knew the reason: 

EBENEZER WILSON 
GROCERIES AND LIQUORS 
POST OFFICE 
NASHVILLE INDIANA 
“There’s the post office, Father! Are all those 
people waiting for letters?” 

As she spoke, a man on horseback rode up. Two 
saddle bags hung across his saddle. He sprang from 
his horse, lifted off the heavy bags, and carried them 
into the store. The crowd quickly followed him, all 
anxious to get their letters and papers. 

“I don’t understand. Father,” said Susan. “I 
thought Uncle Sam lived in Jacksonburg. That sign 
reads Nashville. How’s that?” 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you! When Nashville got 
the post office, it was decided to change the name of 
the village from Jacksonburg to Nashville. It hasn’t 
been changed long. Mail is delivered here once a 
week.” 




A man on horseback rode up. 


141 











































Nashville 


£43 


On the third of the four comers Susan spelled out 
this sign: “J-O'n'a't'h'a'n W'O'O'l'm'a'n G-u-n 
S-m'i't'h B'l'a-C'k'S-m'i't'h H'O'r'S'e'S'h'O'e-i'n'g.” 
At one side of the shop she saw a wooden pump and 
a long trough made from a hollow log. Here the 
horses were watered. 

On the fourth comer stood the meeting house, a 
long low frame building. Two small windows and 
two large doors were on the side facing the road. 

“What a queer cabin! I never saw one like that. 
It’s like two cabins put together, isn’t it? Why did 
they build it that way?” asked Susan, as they rode 
past the meeting house and came to this cabin home. 

“That’s a double log cabin, Susan. It’s a good idea. 
I think I’ll build one just like that so next spring I 
can add on another cabin. That will give us a larger 
and more comfortable home. Let’s stop a minute! 
I want you and Mother to look at this one care' 
fully.” 

They saw a double cabin with a passageway be' 
tween, that was wide enough for a wagon to drive 
through. Stairs at the back led to the second floor, 
which extended over both cabins and the passage' 
way. 



144 


Abigail 


“There is a fine large cabin of two rooms down¬ 
stairs, and three rooms upstairs, isn’t there, Tom?” 
asked Mother thoughtfully. 

Father nodded as he asked, “Do you know what 
that passageway is called, Susan?” As Susan shook 
her head, he continued, “It is called the ‘dog trot’.” 
Susan and Samanthy laughed at the funny name. 

On they rode, passing several of these double cab¬ 
ins, before they turned to the left and followed 
Greasy Creek. 

“This is Greasy Creek,” said Father. “I think we 
will build near here. Isn’t it a fine valley, Carrie?” 
he asked, as they looked around them. 

“I like it very much, Tom. It looks like good land. 
The view is pretty, too. But there’s lots of work to 
do on this road. It will be bad when it’s wet.” 

“All roads are that way in this new country, Car¬ 
rie. We’ll have to get used to them,” agreed Father. 

They rode along in silence for nearly a mile when 
Father turned to the right and climbed to the top of 
a hill. Here they all dismounted. He tied the horses 
to the trees, loosened their bridles, and slipped the 
bits out of their mouths so they could nibble the 
young grass near them. 



Nashville 


145 


“Here is where I want to build,” he said. “We 
can buy all the land we want—mighty good land, too 
—at a fair price. What do you say, Carrie? How do 
you like it, Susan? Isn’t it a pretty place?” 

Susan could tell by Father’s voice that he was tre¬ 
mendously pleased. They stood looking over the flat 
rich land with the beautiful hills all about them with¬ 
out speaking. The quiet beauty of the place im¬ 
pressed them all. 

“Tom, see how blue the hills look,” said Mother, 
“a misty blue. It will be peaceful living here. I’m 
very glad we came.” 

Then she and Samanthy and Susan sat down on a 
fallen log to enjoy the view. 

“How much is it an acre?” asked Mother practi¬ 
cally. 

“Sam tells me about two dollars. We have nearly 
three hundred dollars left. We were in luck to get 
that good price for our farm in Kentucky. I’ve a 
mind to buy a fairly large piece of land, one that 
would cost about a hundred and sixty dollars. I could 
pay cash for that. Then we could buy more when 
our first crops are sold, and we have the money. I 
don’t want to spend all our money for land though, 



146 


for we want to buy pigs, and there’ll be food to buy 
until our crops are harvested. What do you think, 
Mother?” 

“Tom, we must buy sheep, too; we’ll need wool 
for our clothes. Didn’t you say you needed another 
horse?” 

So they sat on the log and talked in the warm 
spring sunshine. The birds sang, the flowers bloomed, 
and Father and Mother were very happy planning. 

At last it was decided to take a whole section of 
land and to build on the hill, because as Father pointed 
out, the valley might be flooded each spring when 
Greasy Creek overflowed its banks. The low land 
would be that much the richer, and would grow fine 
tobacco or make good pasture land. As soon as the 
hillside could be cleared. Mother wanted to have 
apple trees planted. 

“There’s something so lovely about an apple or' 
chard in bloom, Tom,” she said. “I feel sure apples 
would do well on these hills.” 




XIV 

ON A HILLTOP 

When they returned, they found that David and 
James with Uncle Sam’s help, had sharpened the axes. 
Early the next morning the men left to begin cutting 
logs for the new cabin on the hilltop. 

Mother, Aunt Lina, Susan, and Samanthy stayed 
home to wash, for as Susan said, “Even Abigail’s 
clothes need to be washed! Traveling does get one 
so dirty.” 

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said to Abigail, “if 


i47 




Abigail 


148 

I don’t dress you this morning. I’m going to wash 
your clothes and you’ll have to stay in bed until they 
are dry and ironed. When the first rainy day comes, 
I’ll make you a new dress to wear when the one you 
have on is in the wash.” 

It was long after dinner before Susan found time 
to dress Abigail, for baby Tim was cross that mom- 
ing, and Susan had all she could do to care for him 
and hang up the clothes. 

Uncle Sam had driven two large forked sticks in 
the ground and put a strong green pole across them. 
Here on the pole was hung the big black kettle, where 
the water for washing the clothes was heated. Saman' 
thy brought the water from the well, and made three 
trips to the woodpile for chips and logs for the fire. 

“Here, Samanthy, take this crock of soft soap I 
just made and put it on that stump,” called her 
mother. “Carrie’U need a right smart lot of soap for 
that mess of clothes. Give me a hand with these tubs, 
will you? Dearie me, how heavy these wooden tubs 
are. Say, Carrie, remember to throw all the dirty 
water on the flower beds as long as you’re here, won’t 
you? Water gets awful scarce round here in the sum- 
mer.” Aunt Lina seemed to talk continually. 



On a Hilltop 


149 


By early afternoon the clothes were waving on the 
clothes line, looking almost as though there were peo' 
pie inside them, Susan thought to herself. She was 
combing Abigail’s hair and putting on her clean dress 
and pantalets. Only her shawl, coat and bonnet were 
in her portmanteau, and Susan had left that open in 
the sun all morning to give it a good airing. 

When Mother called Susan the next morning she 
snuggled down further in bed, closed her eyes, and 
said, “I don’t feel well at all! I don’t know what’s 
wrong.” 

Mother came over and looked down at her care' 
fully. “Land sakes, child, you’ve got the yellow jaun' 
dice,” she exclaimed. “You’re all yellow. Even your 
eye balls are yellow.” Then she walked toward the 
fire and called, “Oh, Lina! Susan’s got the jaundice. 
Have you any of those bitters Grandmother used to 
give us?” 

“Course I have, I couldn’t keep house without 
those bitters!” answered Aunt Lina. “Samanthy, 
climb up and get the bottle. It’s on the top shelf of 
the cupboard.” 

“There’s only a tiny bit left,” called Samanthy, 
handing the bottle down to her mother. 



iso 


Abigail 


“I recollect now, Sam had a tough case o’ jaunders 
’bout a year ago and used most of it up. I meant to 
make more, but I clean forgot it. Here, Susan, you 
take this spoonful and I’ll make more right away.” 

Aunt Lina held up the bottle and Susan watched 
her pour out some dark green medicine. 

“I’d rather have the jaunders than take any of that 
awful stuff!” exclaimed Susan, beginning to cry. 

“I think you must be tired out from your journey, 
if you cry so easily,” Mother said quietly. “You will 
have to stay in bed for a few days, take the medicine, 
and get a good rest. Then you will get well, and be 
a happy little girl again. Father will want you to go 
to the clearing with him. You know what I think 
of little girls who cry! Crying never helped any¬ 
thing. It only makes you feel worse. Now brace 
up.” 

Susan swallowed the medicine, and found to her 
surprise that it didn’t taste as bad as she had imagined. 

“Where do you suppose I put that recipe for the 
jaunders medicine?” Aunt Lina asked herself, as she 
stood with her hands on her hips, trying to remem¬ 
ber. Going over to the big family Bible which lay 
on the mantle, she turned through the pages until 



On a Hilltop 


ilf 

she found the piece of paper for which she was 
looking. 

Then she read aloud: 

Remedy for Yellow Jaunders 
Take a double handful of dewberry roots, a 
double handful of roots of cranebill, two gallons of 
witch hazel leaves. Boil these separately until the 
juice is entirely extracted. Strain, and pour out all 
the liquid into one vessel. Boil this down to a quart. 
Add a pint of good French brandy and a pound of 
sugar. Dose: One teaspoonful every hour. 

Aunt Lina paused; then she said, ‘T haven’t half 
the stuff to make it with, but I know what we’ll do! 
Samanthy, you run up to old Mrs. Scroggins. She’s 
a good herb doctor, half Indian, and tell her your 
cousin Susan from Kentucky took sick with the jaum 
ders, and we are all out of medicine. Ask her if she 
will lend us some, please. Now, mind you’re polite! 
Take her along that apple pie I baked last night. It’s 
a right smart piece up Clay Lick. You be spry now, 
Samanthy, and don’t spill the bitters.” 

Samanthy was successful in bringing home the bit' 
ters, and for days Susan took the medicine regularly 
while her skin cleared and she grew to be once more 
the wholesome, happy child who had left her home 
in Kentucky. 



'Abigail 


m 

At last she was well enough to go with Father, 
David, and James, to spend the day at the clearing 
on the top of the hill. Samanthy brought out a basket 
and they packed their lunch, so they could stay all 
day. With Samanthy carrying Abigail, and Susan 
carrying the lunch basket, they started. 

On the way Father told them about a strange old 
man—he called him a “queer old codger”—who lived 
halfway up Greasy Creek, all alone in a rough, half' 
faced cabin. “He’s lived around here for years and 
years, he isn’t related to anybody, and he spends 
most of his time trapping and hunting over the hills. 
I imagine he knows lots of good stories, though.” 
Father ended. 

Sure enough, deep in the valley the girls heard 
someone chopping wood. Father turned off the road, 
and the three followed a little path through the 
woods. 






XV 


A GOOD NEIGHBOR 

“Hello, neighbor,” called Father when he came 
within sight of the cabin. The chopping ceased and 
the queerest old man with a long white beard came 
to meet them. 

“Hi,” he said. “Got the young ’uns with ye, have 
ye? That’s good. I always like young ’uns! Howdy, 
gals.” 

153 


As he shook hands with Susan he said, “You was 
the one that was sick, wasn’t you? I ken tell by 
lookin’ at ye. Jaunders makes a person mighty sick, 
but not so bad as fever’n’agur. I had a powerful bad 
spell of that last spring. Couldn’t stop a'shakin'. You 
go on to your chopping and I’ll send the gals up after 
a spell,” he said to Father, as he turned toward his 
cabin with a little girl on either side. 

“My name is Jake Schoonover, but all the young 
’uns call me Uncle Jake,” said he. “I like little gals, 
and posies. We’ll see each other often.” 

Soon an opening in the woods appeared at the end 
of the path. Here was a garden spot, and a crude 
kind of shed, the half'faced cabin Father had spoken 
about. Logs formed three sides of the cabin; the 
fourth side had no wall, but was covered with a cur' 
tain made of animal skins sewn together. The ceiling 
was low and made of rough clapboards laid upon 
poles which served for joists. From these j’ists, as 
Uncle Jake called them, many things were hung: 
hunks of jerked beef, links of homemade sausage, 
bunches of dried catnip and fragrant camomile and 
pennyroyal, strings of red peppers used to make 
certain medicines, and ears of choice seed com. 



A Good Neighbor 


155 

He had made a bed over in the comer by laying 
a pile of branches along the wall and covering them 
with moss and leaves. Over this was thrown a blan- 
ket. Against the opposite wall were a table and chair. 
There was no fireplace, for he told the girls he did 
all of his cooking over an open fire in front of the 
opening of the shack. 

“Here, Snooper, come and speak to the ladies,” he 
called, as a large brown hunting dog came around the 
comer of the shack. 

“What beautiful brown eyes he has,” said Susan, 
as she patted the dog’s head. “He’s the kindest look¬ 
ing dog I ever saw.” 

“Snooper looks kind all right, but he’s a ferocious 
fighter, Snooper is,” said Uncle Jake. Then he told 
them how every day in the winter he and Snooper 
went to each of his traps to see what might be in 
them. “I salt the skins and dry ’em, and send ’em 
to Madison to sell; but trappin’s about over this year. 
Gettin’ too warm! Ye know in warm weather the 
animals shed their fur and I can’t sell the skins for 
much, so in summer I work in my garden patch, grow 
my pretty posies, and ’taters, and things. 

“Your pa’ll be wonderin’ where ye be, gals. Maybe 



'Abigail 


we’d better be goin’ up toward his place now. Bring 
your ma down some day and I’ll give her some ‘yarb’ 
roots for her garden. I got a lot o’ healin’ ‘yarbs’ fer 
sickness. Does she like sassafras tea? I’ll bring ’er up 
some sassafras, if she does. Now go along up the 
road. Ye can hear your pa choppin’ up yonder. Come 
and see me whenever ye can, gals.” 

“Thank you, Uncle Jake, we’ve had a very pleas' 
ant time. We’ll be glad to come again and bring 
Mother,” said Susan. 

The girls found Father and then wandered about 
in the woods, looking at the lovely spring flowers 
and listening to the calls of the birds. 

“Abigail, you sit down under this tree while we 
cross the brook,” said Susan, who by this time was 
carrying her. “Then Samanthy and I can carry the 
lunch basket between us.” 

She left Abigail comfortably seated with her back 
against an old sycamore tree, with a wild rose bush 
to keep the sun off. From there Susan and Samanthy 
went farther and farther down the hill to the spring 
at the very bottom. After they had made cups of 
their hands and had a drink of the cold water, they 
sat down on the grass to eat their lunch. 




She left Abigail seated against an old sycamore tree. 


157 




A Good Neighbor 


m 

Through the long sunny afternoon they picked 
spring flowers for a big bouquet for Mother and Aunt 
Lina. Susan taught Samanthy how to weave a basket 
of grasses, and by the time it was finished and the 
spring flowers were arranged in it prettily, it was 
sunset, and Father was calling them to go home. 

Mother and Aunt Lina were delighted with the 
basket of flowers. Aunt Lina put it in the middle of 
the table for dinner and spoke again and again of how 
pretty it was, how smart the girls were to make the 
basket, and how glad she was to have Susan here for 
Samanthy to play with. 

The day in the clearing had made Susan very tired 
and sleepy, so she went to bed the moment she fin' 
ished dinner. By the time Mother and Aunt Lina 
had washed the dishes and Mother went over to 
Susan’s trundle bed to see that she was well covered, 
Susan was sound asleep. 

“Poor child! She must have been tired,” sympa* 
thized Aunt Lina. “Here she is, just over the jaun- 
ders, and I’ll wager she and Samanthy walked five 
miles today, hunting flowers for us! Well, a good 
night’s sleep will be the best thing for her.” 

But in the middle of the night Susan woke up out 



i6o 


Abigail 


of a sound sleep. She heard Steve barking, and she 
wondered sleepily whether he had treed a ’coon. 
Then she reached out in the dark to be sure that 
Abigail was comfortable. 

“Abigail, where are you?” whispered Susan, feel¬ 
ing under the quilt for her. She could not find her. 
Susan sat up in bed. On the floor beside her was 
Abigail’s portmanteau, but no Abigail! 

In a flash Susan remembered—she had left Abigail 
sitting all alone under a tree in the woods. 

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What will Abigail do!” she 
thought. “Perhaps a bear will come and carry her 
away. Now it is raining. Abigail will get wet. How 
could I have forgotten her!” 

Susan began to cry—great big sobs—and the more 
she cried, the worse she felt. At last Mother heard 
her sobbing, and came over to find out what had 
happened. 

“Susan, whatever is the matter? What has hap¬ 
pened? Stop crying and tell Mother, dear,” she said, 
taking Susan in her arms. Mother sat down in the 
old rocker with the little girl on her lap and talked 
soothingly until Susan could tell her how she had left 
Abigail under a tree in the woods, all alone. 



A Good Neighbor. 


161 


“I don’t know which tree, or where it was in the 
big woods,” Susan ended with a sob. 

“Well, that was careless,” agreed Mother, “but 
you can go with Father the first thing in the morning 
and get her. I’m sure you can find her with Saman- 
thy’s help. There will probably be a little path 
through the grass where you two children walked. 
I’m quite sure you can find Abigail. We’ll all help, 
if necessary.” 

“But you don’t understand, Mother. You see I 
haven’t any idea what tree I left her under! How can 
we find her? Abigail must be cold and wet, and 
dreadfully frightened all alone in the big woods,” 
sobbed Susan. 

“You get back in bed now,” said Mother firmly. 
“I’ll sit down beside you for a little while and you 
must stop crying and go to sleep!” 

It was nearly an hour later when Susan’s sobs grew 
less, and the tired little girl went back to sleep. 




WHERE WAS ABIGAIL? 

In the morning she asked Mother not to tell any- 
one about it until she had tried to find Abigail. “I’m 
so ashamed of my carelessness,” she whispered. 

Mother and Susan went out to the bam to find 
Father, but Uncle Sam told them the men had left 
earlier than usual that morning, and had been gone 
quite a while. 

“Sam, may I take your horse for a bit? I want to 
ride up to the clearing to see Tom,” Mother said 
quietly. 


162 




Where Was Abigail? 


163 


“Sure you can! Dolly’s as gentle as a lamb. You 
can ride her easy,” said Uncle Sam, putting on the 
saddle and bridle. 

“Come, Susan, I want you to go with me. Run 
and tell Aunt Lina we are going, and ask her to please 
listen for Tim.” 

“My! Isn’t Mother good!” thought Susan, as she 
ran into the cabin. 

There was almost a smile on Susan’s face as she 
perched herself up in front of Mother on Dolly’s 
back. 

“Now, Susan, can’t you remember which way you 
went? Try hard to think,” said Mother when they 
reached the clearing and she was tying Dolly to a tree. 

Susan thought it was down toward the big walnut 
tree, but she wasn’t very sure. So Susan and Mother 
walked up and down, back and forth for more than 
an hour, looking for Abigail. Even Mother began to 
get discouraged. 

“Susan, I must go back to feed Tim,” she said at 
last. “I don’t know just how we are going to find 
Abigail. We can’t ask Father and the boys to stop 
their work to help us hunt. Aunt Lina is too fat to 
climb over these hills. I can’t ask her to care for 



Abigail 


164 

Tim again this afternoon. Hadn’t we better tell the 
family about it, and then as the men are working 
they can be looking for her. You and Samanthy can 
come back this afternoon and go on looking. We will 
find her.” Mother spoke with such certainty in her 
voice that Susan felt much better. 

There was no one who could stop work to take 
Susan and Samanthy back to the clearing after lunch, 
so they decided to walk. When they arrived at the 
clearing they were so tired that Samanthy said she 
couldn’t walk another step “even if Abigail belonged 
to her.” 

Susan set off by herself. She looked under each 
tree, and all around the trees. There was no Abigail. 
She looked under all the bushes and in the tall grass. 
There was no Abigail. But on and on she went in her 
search. All the long afternoon she hunted until she 
heard Father whistle. The day’s work was ended, it 
was time to go home; slowly and sadly she went back 
to Father. 

All the next day Susan and Samanthy hunted for 
Abigail, without finding her. That night Susan 
couldn’t eat any supper. Every bite she took stuck 
in her throat. 



Where Was Abigail? 


165 

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Father finally, “I’ll 
write Grandmother. The mail leaves day after to' 
morrow. I’ll ask her to make you another doll. How’s 
that, Susan?” and Father leaned back smiling, think' 
ing he had fixed the trouble. 

“Oh, no Father! That wouldn’t help. Another 
doll! That isn’t Abigail,” said Susan, as she burst out 
crying and ran away from the table and outdoors. 

Father looked at Mother as he said, “I’m afraid 
the child is making herself sick.” Mother looked at 
Father very seriously and replied, “I know just how 
she feels. Rachel gave Abigail such a real face. Susan 
has never had a sister, and Abigail has come to be a 
very real person to her. I’m afraid there is nothing 
we can do except help her forget Abigail, and after 
a time I hope she won’t feel so terribly.” 

“I’ve offered her my ’coon, or my turtle, or even 
my guinea'hen,” said Samanthy sadly, “but she won’t 
take them. All she does is think about Abigail. I 
feel so sorry, for I think almost as much of Abigail 
as Susan does.” 

The next evening, just as the family was sitting 
down to supper, there came a rap at the door. 

“I wonder who’s coming at this time o’ day,” said 



i66 


Abigail 


Uncle Sam, going to the door and opening it. “Well! 
Well! If it isn’t Uncle Jake. Howdy, neighbor. 
Come right in.” 

“Oh, Abigail!” shrieked Susan, who had been 
standing near the door and was very close to Uncle 
Jake when he stepped in. “Oh, Abigail,” she send 
again softly, as she clutched her doll from under 
Uncle Jake’s arm and stood hugging it tightly. 
“Where did you find her, Uncle Jake? Where did 
you find her? I looked everywhere in the woods.” 

“Come in, Uncle Jake! Come in, and draw up a 
chair and have a bite with us,” urged Aunt Lina. 

“Thank ye, thank ye kindly, but I’ll be goin’ back. 
I thought the little gal would want her doll.” 

“Oh, come now, draw up to the table with us and 
have some o’ Lina’s biscuits. You never ate better!” 
urged Uncle Sam. “Where’d you find Abigail? 
We’ve been ’bout crazy over here since she was lost!” 

Noticing Uncle Jake’s puzzled expression, Mother 
hastened to explain that Abigail was the name of 
Susan’s doll which he had just brought in. 

Then Uncle Jake in his queer way told them how 
his good dog, Snooper, had come in with the doll 
in his mouth at sunset three days ago. “I calls him 




“Where did you find her, Uncle Jake?” 


167 
























































































































































































Where Was Abigail? 


169 


Snooper ’cause he’s alius snoopin’ ’round and findin’ 
things,” he said by way of explanation. “I’ve been 
mighty busy gettin’ my 'coon skins ready to sell, so 
I couldn’t bring the doll back until tonight. I set her 
up on a shelf, and she was lots of company. She 
looked that natural, it’ll be kinda lonesome without 
that nice little gal with me. I wanted to keep her, 
but I ’lowed little Susan would be lonesome fer her, 
so I brung her down.” 

Uncle Jake did stay long enough to have as many 
of Aunt Lina’s biscuits as he could eat. As he left, 
Susan went over to him, her face beaming with hap' 
piness, and Abigail held tightly in her arms. “Thank 
you, Uncle Jake! Thank you a hundred times for 
bringing Abigail back to me,” she said. 

After supper as Susan sat in the firelight close to 
Mother with Abigail in her arms, she was very quiet. 

“Why so still, Susan?" asked David, pinching her 
cheek. “I am surprised that you aren’t hopping up 
and down with joy.” 

“I am happy, Dave,” she answered, “but I was just 
thinking how foolish it was for me to worry and 
carry on so about Abigail. It really didn’t help a 
speck. So I made up a poem about it. 



170 


'Abigail 


IT DOESN’T PAY TO WORRY 

It doesn’t pay to worry, 

’Cause it only makes it worse! 

But when you’re thinking happy thoughts 
It’s like money in your purse. 

I’ve known that if you worry 
You’ll never find the clue. 

So now let’s all stop worrying 
And the Lord will see us through. 

—Emily Sperry 





BORROWING FIRE 

With the finding of Abigail, quiet and happiness 
once more settled over Uncle Sam’s cabin, and the 
days passed quickly for Susan. She helped to care 
for baby Tim, while Mother cooked and kept the 
cabin in order. It was Mother’s suggestion that she 
do the work inside so that Aunt Lina could work 
outdoors in her garden—her kitchen garden as she 
called it—for Aunt Lina was noted in the little vih 
lage of Nashville for her early vegetables and flow- 
ers. The first sweet peas always came from Aunt 
Lina’s garden. 


171 



















Ill 


Abigail 


“Folks do say I raise the most beautiful sweet peas 
hereabouts,” she confessed to Mother. “It makes no 
difference what the weather is, I plant sweet peas on 
the seventeenth of March, rain or snow. Last year 
on the seventeenth, I shoveled away the snow to dig 
the trench for the sweet pea seeds. I was a bit wor' 
ried about putting them in, but it worked out all 
right. The blooms were the finest I’ve ever raised!” 

One Wednesday Mother and Susan were left alone 
with Tim, for Uncle Sam, Aunt Lina, and Samanthy 
went to get sweet potato plants. 

As soon as they had waved good'by Mother said, 
“Susan, if you will wash the dishes I’ll finish thread' 
ing the loom. Lina says I may have all the balls of 
carpet rags she has sewn to use in a rug for our new 
cabin. We will have to work fast to get it finished 
by the time of the housewarming, but we can do it 
if you will help. It is very easy to learn how to weave 
after the loom is threaded. I’ll finish the threading, 
start the weaving, and then you can work at the loom 
while I do the baking.” 

“Oh, goody! I’ve always wanted to weave! I’ll get 
the dishes washed before you can say Jack Robin' 
son,” cried Susan happily. 



Borrowing Fire 


*73 


Susan could soon hear a bang, bang, bang resound' 
ing through the cabin. Then she knew that Mother 
had finished threading the loom and had begun to 
weave. 

“Why, Mother, what a lot you have done ah 
ready!” exclaimed Susan, as she stood in the doorway 
of the lean-to a half hour later, watching her mother. 
“You’ve woven ’most a foot.” 

“Oh, weaving rugs is quick and easy!” encouraged 
Mother. “Your arms may get tired beating, but it's 
very important to beat well, for that makes a firm 
rug. We don’t want any loose weaving. These rags 
aren’t as heavy as I wish they were. Good firm ma¬ 
terial in the rags does so much to make a good rug. 
But I’m mighty thankful to have these rags sewn, 
ready for use. It was good of Lina to give them to 
me. I’ll return the same number of balls of rags to 
her as soon as I get them. She doesn’t need them 
now, and we do!” 

“This loom isn’t like ours, is it, Mother?” It's 
bigger and heavier! This one is so clumsy looking! 
Can’t we set up ours?” 

“Oh, no! Father hasn’t time to set up ours now. 
Don’t you remember how long it took him to get it 



i74 


Abigail 


apart to put into the wagon. Come over here, and 
I’ll let you begin to weave.” 

Susan sat Abigail down near the loom and climbed 
up on the stool where her mother had been sitting. 
But when she tried to reach the treadles of the loom 
she found her legs were too short. 

“I can’t reach; how can I weave?” asked Susan 
sadlly. 

“Oh, dear! I never thought of that. You’ll just 
have to stand up, Susan. It’ll be harder, but you can 
manage. When David has time, he will make you 
your own weaving stool that will be just the right 
height. I want to teach you to weave linsey-woolsey, 
too. You and I will need new dresses and you can 
help me to weave the cloth. We’ll wait to do that 
until after we shear the sheep next spring, and then 
we can use our own wool.” 

As Mother talked, she sorted out the balls of rags 
piled high in a basket near the loom. “I want you 
to use dark rags, with some bright red. This rug 
we’re working on will be laid in front of the door, 
and it will have hard wear. We have the bear skin 
for the floor in front of the fireplace. 

“In weaving, the important thing to remember is 



Borrowing Fire 


£75 

the edge. You must keep a straight edge. If you pull 
too tight, the edge will draw in; and if you don’t pull 
tightly enough, the edge of the rug will stretch and 
then the shape of the rug will be crooked and look 
badly. Watch carefully, Susan! Push the left treadle 
down with your left foot; throw the shuttle through 
with your left hand; catch it with your right hand, 
like this.” Mother easily and quickly showed Susan 
as she talked. 

“Then step on the right treadle with your right 
foot; throw the shuttle through with your right hand; 
catch it with your left! It’s very easy! Now you try.” 

But when Susan tried, the shuttle instead of flying 
through as Mother’s had done, stopped halfway. 
Susan looked up at Mother in dismay. 

“Never mind, push it the rest of the way with your 
hand, Susan. It takes practice of course. Keep at it, 
and you will get so you can throw it all the way 
through. Now I’m going to set the bread! I want to 
get it baked before noon. Call me if you need me.” 
Away hurried Mother, leaving Susan alone with Abi¬ 
gail and the loom. 

“Abigail, I don’t know whether this is going to be 
as much fun as I thought. It seems like hard work to 



176 ___ Abigail 

me!” said Susan, as she looked into Abigail’s blue 
eyes. 

Try as hard as Susan would, the shuttle would not 
fly all the way through, and Susan’s arms ached from 
pulling the heavy wooden bar back after each strip of 
cloth had been woven through. “I can’t give up, 
though,” she thought. “We need this rug and Mother 
will never have the time to do it all herself.” Then 
she worked harder than ever at the big loom. 

“Susan! Susan!” called Mother, with something in 
her voice which made Susan drop the shuttle and run 
to where she was standing before the fireplace. 
Mother’s hands were raised in horror, and a look of 
amazement was on her face. 

“The fire is out! There’s not one single live coal 
left, not even a spark. How could I have forgotten 
it! I’ve never let the fire go out before, and it’s nearly 
time for me to start dinner. How could I have been 
so careless?” 

“It’s because Aunt Lina always takes care of the 
fire, and you have gotten out of the habit, Mother,” 
said Susan practically. “Never mind, I’ll go and bor* 
row some coals from Uncle Jake. It won’t take long 
for me to run over to his cabin. It’s halfway to the 




She worked harder than ever at the big loom. 


177 





















































































































Borrowing Fire 


179 


clearing. We’ll have dinner in time, you just see! 
I’ll run very fast.” 

“You are a comfort, Susan. Of course we can bon 
row some live coals. Take the small iron kettle; put 
some ashes in it, and hurry along. Uncle Jake will 
know how to fix the coals so that they will bum until 
you get back. Do be careful. Don’t fall, carrying 
those hot coals. Don’t tarry, Susan, we must have 
dinner ready when the men get home, for Father be' 
grudges every minute he isn’t working on the cabin.” 

Susan shoveled ashes from the fireplace, put them 
in the smallest iron kettle, and ran quickly down the 
road. 

“No fire in the fireplace!” thought Susan. “How 
strange!” Never in her life had she known a fireplace 
to be cold. Summer or winter, a small fire was always 
burning day and night, so that the meals could be 
cooked. Father and Grandfather were skillful in rat¬ 
ing the ashes over the fire at night so that it would 
give very little heat. Yet in the morning all that was 
needed was to have the ashes raked away from the 
coals, a little kindling wood laid on them, and the 
coals would burst into a fine blaze. 

“I wish I didn’t have to tell Uncle Jake that Mother 



i8o 


Abigail 


let the fire go out. He might think Mother careless. 
He hasn’t known Mother very long, not long enough 
to know how smart she is, and how she never for' 
gets things. I guess I’ll let him think I let it go out,” 
Susan thought jerkily, as she ran on her errand. 

When Susan reached Uncle Jake’s cabin she found 
him cooking potatoes over a fire in the yard. He was 
smoking his corncob pipe and Snooper lay nearby. 

“Our fire has gone out. May I borrow some coals 
from your fire please. Uncle Jake?” Susan drew a 
long breath. She hadn’t said Mother had let the fire 
go out, and neither did she have to tell a lie. How 
lucky! 

“Borrow coals from my fire? Well, well, well! 
Now that is a bad fix to be in. I remember when I 
was a little shaver our fire went out one night when 
it was so cold that the water froze in the trough in 
the barn. But pappy had his tinder box and flint and 
steel, and the next momin’ he soon had a spark, and 
a new fire a'goin’.” Uncle Jake laughed at the rec' 
ollection. 

“Brought a kettle along, did ye? That’s good. 
Come over here and we’ll see what we can do.” 

He filled Susan’s small iron kettle halfway full of 



Borrowing Fire 


181 


ashes. Then he carefully placed a shovel full of red 
hot coals on top of the ashes. He covered the glow' 
ing coals with more ashes and packed them down 
hard. Then he put the lid on the kettle and handed 
it to Susan, saying, “Take hold of the handle and 
walk careful! Don’t fall and don’t spill the coals. By 
the way, how’s Abigail? Bring her along the next 
time ye come.” 

“Thank you, I will; and we surely do thank you 
for the fire,” Susan remembered to say. 

“Tell your paw to come and set a spell and visit 
some day, will ye? Have you got your cabin most 
done?” 

“Yes, sir, we think we’ll move in next Monday. 
Father says we’re going to have a housewarming after 
we get in. We hope you’ll come. It’s going to be an 
all day party and the men will help put up the bam. 
I must hurry. Good-by. Thank you.” And away 
went the little girl skipping down the path. 

“Susan, Susan,” called Uncle Jake. “Have a care. 
Ye’ll spill the coals sure.” 

But Susan was out of hearing. 

“Nice little gal. Nice family, those Calvins. I’m 
glad they came to Brown County. They’re good folks 



182 


Abigail 


to have here,” thought Uncle Jake as he began to 
refill his pipe and look at the ’taters. 

It took Mother only a few minutes to start the fire 
with the coals Susan brought, and soon dinner was 
cooking in the fireplace. 

Mother told them all at dinner about her careless' 
ness. Father laughed and said, “I wish I had bought 
some of those new things I saw in Madison. We 
ought to have them in the house for just such an 
emergency. You remember, Carrie. They are very 
small pine sticks with sulphur on one end. Lucifer 
matches they’re called. You strike one on the sul¬ 
phur end against something rough and it bursts into 
a flame. Keep them in the house, and you’re never 
without fire. How’s that for a wonderful invention, 
boys?” 

“It doesn’t sound true to me,” said James. “I wish 
I’d seen them. I’ll have to see someone make fire 
that way before I’ll believe it.” 

“All right! I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” answered 
Father, “if we have a good crop this summer. I’ll 
buy a bunch of Lucifer matches—there’s a hundred 
in a bunch—when we go to Madison next fall to 
trade, and you may light the first one, James.” 





XVIII 

A HOUSEWARMING 


The days passed quickly. From sunrise to sunset 
the boys and Father cut logs of uniform size for the 
cabin. Four of the straightest, strongest logs were 
laid as the foundation with heavy puncheons across 
them for the floor. With Uncle Sam’s help, the log 
walls were raised higher and higher, and the space 
between the logs securely chinked with chips and 
clay. In building the cabin they were careful to 
leave spaces for the doors and windows. Large stones 

183 







184 _ Abigail 

in the woods or pastures were collected and used to 
build the generous fireplace. 

A plot of ground close to the cabin was cleared— 
even the roots of the trees and the old stumps had 
been pulled out—and the ground made smooth and 
level for a garden. A fence of stakes driven close 
together that was higher than Susan was tall, had 
been built around the garden plot. 

Susan, who had been watching David drive in the 
stakes, asked, “Why do you stop to build a fence 
when there’s so much else to do?” 

“Look around you, Susan,” answered David kindly. 
“See the hawks circling above. Look at that black 
cloud of birds over yonder. They’re crows. There’s 
a rabbit sitting on that log watching us. I’ve seen a 
’coon run up that tall tree several different times. 
Watch carefully and you’ll see a fox and deer in that 
strip of woods yonder. There are squirrels every' 
where. The men in the village tell me they often 
hear the call of wolves on a winter night. We must 
protect our garden from all these wild creatures. 

“And, Susan, have you noticed how Father is com 
stantly burning up all the piles of brush and rubbish? 
That’s because snakes hide in them. I don’t want to 



A Housewarming 185 

frighten you, but there are plenty of snakes here' 
abouts, so you’d better watch out!” 

On that same day Susan and Samanthy were eating 
their lunch, when Susan said happily, “We’re going 
to have a double cabin when Father has time to build 
it. Then Abigail and I will have our own room. 
Mother said I might have pink curtains, and I’m go' 
ing to ask Grandmother to put a pink border around 
the patchwork quilt she’s making for me. Some day 
I’ll weave a pink rag rug, too. Won’t that be fun?” 

“Yes,” agreed Samanthy, “and you have a pink 
quilted pad in the bottom of the basket Nancy Ken- 
nedy gave you. Your room will be so pretty!” 

Early on a Monday morning Father hitched up 
the oxen and piled the covered wagon high with 
every piece of furniture they had brought from 
Kentucky. All was ready to drive to the new home. 
The Saturday before, he and mother had bought a 
heavy black walnut bed for Susan, a table, and sew 
eral other pieces of furniture from a neighbor who 
was moving away. These pieces were already in place 
in the cabin home. 

Susan with Abigail and her portmanteau started 
on ahead of the wagon for, as she explained, “I can’t 



i86 


Abigail 


wait to get there to look around and get ready for 
company. Today’s the day of the housewarming, 
Abigail. I’m glad your clothes are clean.” 

As the little girl and her doll approached the new 
cabin that was to be their home, the sun shone on the 
two glass windows on either side of the front door 
so brightly that they seemed to glow in welcome. 

Susan and Abigail wandered about the cabin and 
were there to watch Father unload the wagon. First 
came the cherry bedstead and the feather bed, on 
which they had traveled so comfortably. Then Moth' 
er’s rocker was taken out and placed in the cabin 
near the fireplace. Her treasured candlestand was put 
close to it, and Mother, herself, put the brass candle' 
stick on the mantle. 

She smiled as Father laid the bear skin rug in front 
of the fireplace while he sang, 

Heigh'o! the derry oh. 

Mother killed a bear. 

The bureau from Kentucky was set against the far 
wall. David put the Seth Thomas clock on the man' 
tie carefully, wound it, and at once it began ticking 
out the cheery song Susan had always heard in Ken' 
tucky. 




A Housewarming 


187 


Father hung the big, black pot on the crane in the 
fireplace. He kindled a fire, using the chips Susan 
and Samanthy had gathered while the logs for the 
cabin were being squared. Hardly was a fire blazing 
in the new fireplace, when the first neighbor arrived 
for the housewarming, as Mother called it, or the 
bam raising as Father called it. That neighbor was 
Uncle Jake. He appeared at the door with a fine deer 
thrown over his shoulders. 

“I reckon ye could use this for venison stew,” said 
he, and James and David grinned with pleasure as 
they quickly took it from him, and began dressing it. 

“Where’s Susan?” he asked. 

“Good morning, Uncle Jake, I’m glad you’ve 
come,” said Susan running up. “I got home with the 
fire all right.” 

“Good morning,” said Mother, before he could 
reply. “We brought coals from that same fire with 
us, and we’ve just used them to start the fire in our 
new home. So thank you again.” 

“I’ll always be glad to know that, ma’am,” said 
Uncle Jake. “Ye’re right fine neighbors. I’m glad 
ye’re here! But, Susan, here’s somethin’ for Abigail. 
She’s been purty busy and it ’pears to me she needs 



x88 


Abigail 


a comfortable place to rest!” Uncle Jake handed 
Susan a doll bed, made of hickory wood and per' 
fectly finished. “I began makin’ it for her when 
Snooper first brought her to my cabin. All I could 
do then was set her on a chair, but now she can lie 
down when you think she’s tired!” 

“Uncle Jake, you’re really the nicest person,” said 
Susan. “Thank you very, very much. I’ll piece a 
quilt for her bed just as soon as I can.” 

Susan laid Abigail down, and Uncle Jake smiled 
with satisfaction as he saw how very comfortable 
Abigail seemed to find her new hickory bed. 

“Now I’ve brought my ax,” said he, turning to 
Father. “I’ve come to help build yer bam. Suppose 
we go out and get busy.” 

Uncle Sam, Aunt Lina, and Samanthy drove up 
as Uncle Jake walked toward the pile of logs that 
were soon to become the bam. 

“I’ve brought a crock of pickles, jars of preserves, 
and two cakes, Carrie,” called Aunt Lina. “Here’s 
my quilting frame. Sam, don’t you be a'goin’ toward 
that bam before you help me get it in place.” 

Uncle Sam laughed pleasantly as he helped Lina 
set up the frame in the shade of a tall tree. 




Susan laid 


Abigail down . 


t 


189 






































































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A Housewarming 


191 


“Here, Carrie, is a quilt I’ve pieced,” said Aunt 
Lina, as Mother came out to meet them. “I have all 
the materials, too, and we women folks will quilt 
it today. See! It’s my favorite pattern.” 

Susan looked at Aunt Lina and Samanthy in amaze¬ 
ment. Tears of pleasure gathered in Mother’s eyes 
as she said, “But, Lina, all that work! You shouldn’t!” 

“Why not?” asked Aunt Lina happily. “I worked 
on it all winter long, hoping I could use it for this 
very thing—a housewarming for you. You don’t 
know how I wanted you folks to come! See, it’s the 
wild goose pattern. Many’s the time I’ve looked out 
of my cabin to see a flock of wild geese flying over¬ 
head that looked just like this.” 

“Of course,” said Mother, “each patch of blue 
that is a triangle is a wild bird, and they fly in flocks 
with a leader. I declare, I’ve never seen that pattern 
before. It’s very pretty, and, some way, it’s just 
right for our new home in Indiana. We do need 
quilts, that’s a fact! I’ll love to have it. Thank you 
again and again, Lina. I’ll use it, and take very, very 
good care of it until Samanthy moves into a home 
of her own some day, and then I’ll give it to her. 
How’s that?” asked Mother, turning to Samanthy. 



192 


Abigail 


“Here come the Fleeners,” called James, who had 
built a fire and had the venison stewing in a big kettle 
in the yard. Two women, three men, and four chil¬ 
dren climbed out of the wagon. The men with their 
axes quickly joined Father, Uncle Sam, Uncle Jake, 
and David. The women took baskets covered with 
clean white towels out of the wagon, carried them 
into the kitchen, and began unpacking them. New 
bread, hams, fried chicken, and pumpkin pies were 
piled on the table. 

Soon another wagon, and then another turned 
into the roadway that led to the Calvins’ cabin. As 
Susan watched, several more came into view. Old 
neighbors, too busy with their own hard duties of 
pioneer life to take the time for mere social gather¬ 
ings, were glad to see one another as they helped a 
new neighbor build a bam, or quilt a patchwork 
comfort. 

At last there were so many people and so many 
baskets that a long table was set outside and the food 
placed upon it. In the very middle of the table Mrs. 
Fleener had put a big fruit pie—the biggest pie Susan 
had ever seen. Its crust was a beautiful golden brown, 
and as Samanthy and Susan looked at it closely, they 



A Housewarming 


193 


discovered that the top crust formed two large ini' 
tials—W and C. 

When the men stopped work on the bam, and the 
women stopped quilting, the noon dinner was served. 
As they all sat about the table, Mrs. Fleener said, 
“There are two letters on this pie—W and C. Who' 
ever guesses what these letters stand for, gets the 
first piece of pie.” 

There were many guesses. But it was Samanthy 
who cried, “I know. Welcome, Calvins!” 

Mrs. Fleener beamed as she nodded, and everybody 
envied Samanthy when she was served with the first 
big, juicy piece of pie. 

After dinner the children played games, the 
women worked busily on the quilt, and the bam 
grew from a pile of logs to a building with walls high 
enough to need only a roof to complete it. Both men 
and women worked until daylight faded, and the 
early spring twilight made them think of supper. 
There were plenty of pies, cakes, and venison stew 
left, and again they sat around the table eating, and 
enjoying a friendly visit. 

Every crumb of the big pie had been eaten at the 
noon meal, so at Samanthy’s suggestion, Abigail sat 



Abigail 


194 

smiling in the center of the table. The women ad' 
mired the fine stitching in her clothes, the men her 
black leather shoes that would lace and unlace, her 
portmanteau, and her new hickory bed. Each little 
girl took turns in holding her, and even the boys 
noticed her sunbonnet. 

When the dishes were washed, and each basket 
was packed and put back in the family wagon, some' 
one brought out a fiddle. Uncle Jake called, “All take 
yer partners for a square dance.” 

Susan, with Abigail in her arms, stood with Saman' 
thy in the doorway of the new home and watched 
the first set for the square dance form. Uncle Sam 
and Mother, Father and Aunt Lina, Mr. and Mrs. 
Fleener, and finally David, with a very pretty girl 
dressed in crisp pink gingham, were the ones to dance 
in the first set. Four more couples joined the dancers, 
and soon two sets were following Uncle Jake’s direc' 
tions as he called the figures and clapped his hands 
to accent the rhythm. 


CALLS FOR A SQUARE DANCE 
Take your partners for a square dance. . . . 



A Housewarming 


195 


First couple balance—swing—out to the right and 
Chase the rabbit 
Chase the squirrel 

Chase the pretty girl round th’ world. 

Gent drop through, and circle up four. 

Lady doe and a gent you know, 

Chicken in a bread pan mixing dough. 

Out to th’ right—swing old Adam, 

Now young Eve—now old Adam before you leave. 
Back to taw 

Cross th’ hall and swing Grandmaw. 

Back to taw 

Cut to th’ left—swing your mother'indaw 
Back to taw. 

First gent swing—up th’ center and break th’ ring— 
Right back home. 

Swing that gal you swung before, 

Up the center and cast off four. 

Right back home. 

Swing that gal from Kalamazoo, 

Up the center and cast off two. 

Meet ’em on th’ right—left hand back, 

Swing ’em once around—waltz; the left hand gal 
Same gent swing—up the center and break th ring. 

4 Tm glad you’re here, Susan,” said Samanthy. 
l Tm glad, too,” answered Susan simply. Then she 
slipped in the cabin and placed Abigail and her port' 



196 _ Abigail 

manteau on the mantle, close to the treasured brass 
candlestick. 

As she walked around the dancers, she heard 
Mother say to Uncle Sam, “I’m very glad we came!” 

From where Abigail sat, she gazed through the 
door at the dancers, swaying, turning, changing part' 
ners, all to the gay tune of the fiddle and the calls 
of Uncle Jake. The fire blazed cheerfully in the big, 
natural stone fireplace. 

From outside came the friendly voices of neigh' 
bors laughing together as they waited for a new 
dance set to form in which they, too, might join. 
An occasional wagon rattled off in the dusk, the 
neighbors calling back good'bys, or promising to see 
one another at meeting on Sunday. 

Abigail, happy in her new home in Indiana, sat 
on the mantle and continued to smile at the friend' 
liness and gaiety about her, with never a backward 
glance. 














































































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